


Aimez-Moi

by avalonroses, snowyfoxpaws



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Language Barrier, Lies, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonroses/pseuds/avalonroses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfoxpaws/pseuds/snowyfoxpaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all begins with an alpha, an elevator, and the mistaken presumption of a language barrier.</p><p>“Hey, Matt. Isn’t that guy over there, like... <i>super</i> hot?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work co-written by [avalonroses](http://avalonroses.tumblr.com/) and [snowyfoxpaws](http://snowyfoxpaws.tumblr.com/) for the sake of bringing two idiots together despite all obstacles.
> 
> This work has been fully completed and will be updated as edited.

When Alfred’s advisor had pulled him aside to tell him, _‘Hey, we have a really great study abroad program if you’re interested.’_ the alpha had perked up as though Indiana Jones himself—no relation, unfortunately—had asked him out on expedition through deep jungles and arid deserts.

_Abroad._

A genuine adventure if there ever was one.

And then his mom had said: _‘Oh sweetie that’s great! Let’s see if your brother wants to go to...’_

God fucking damn it.

Now, he had nothing against Matthew; his brother was a great guy. But he was an omega and Alfred was an alpha and they were as different as day and night no matter how similar they looked. And then Matthew got excited about the prospect of going away for a term, so how could he say no? They already attended the same university so they could easily both go into the same program. And their mom had gushed on and on about how it was such a great opportunity and they’d _have so much fun_ …

He felt like he was six again, being let off at his first day of kindergarten with his brother clinging to the back of his shirt. Yet, instead, they were nineteen and Matthew wasn’t really all that sweet for an omega. In fact, he was kind of a passive aggressive asshole, he just knew how to hide it really well.

But, Alfred got over it. If Matt was going, then Matt was going. He just wished his brother hadn’t insisted on _France_. Yeah, it was okay, but Alfred had been more interested in going to somewhere like England or Germany or Spain or something. But Matt had taken French classes once when they were little, his mother had reasoned…

So they were going to France.

It wasn’t all bad though. Sure, he didn’t know any French, but if Matthew knew it then he could probably learn it twice as fast and speak it three times as better. He _was_ an alpha, after all.

Turned out, however, that after the initial orientation and being assigned an apartment complex in the area that half catered to students from other countries, they were more or less allowed to choose from several classes at the local university—or _l'université_ , because, you know, France. So aside from being in the same apartment, Alfred and Matthew didn’t actually have to interact all that much during their day to day activities.

Thank God.

But every morning they both had a class at eight, so it quickly became ritual to harass each other into awareness, which, more often than not, simply came down to Matthew threatening to dump ice water on him when he refused to get up and turn off his alarm. Stumbling into the elevator together that Monday morning, Alfred didn’t expect anything particularly interesting to happen as it began its descent from the seventh floor.

 

 

Arthur, to this day, didn’t know what had possessed him to pack up and move from his quaint, sensible England to _France_ , of all places. The country ran backwards, the people were asking to be strangled upon meeting, and the food was just _atrocious_.

Snails. _Snails_.

Francis could vouch for their ‘exquisite taste’ or prod Arthur about his ‘unsophisticated palate’ as many times as he pleased, Arthur would never be on board with eating a creature covered in slime.

He supposed the move all started with wanting a change of scenery and when he spotted a vacancy as an English teacher at a prestigious school in France, well, Arthur hadn’t thought it through entirely and found himself on a plane a month later, watching the lush patchwork fields of his home ebb away under clouds.

The omega had been lucky enough to have a ‘friend’ living in close vicinity of the school he would be teaching at—Francis wasn’t so much a friend as he was someone Arthur was compelled to punch everyday but it was easier to refer to him using that ambiguous term. Even so, the beta man was living in an apartment building with a room for sale. It had been an ideal situation, except for having Francis as his neighbour.

Once Arthur had settled, he found himself enjoying the teaching a great deal, even if the location was problematic. In terms of culture shock, Arthur, begrudgingly, found that there were more similarities than dissimilarities between France and England. The language— _awful frog language_ —was one of the few barriers Arthur struggled to overcome but he found, from exposure, his deeply buried knowledge of the French language resurfacing.

It wasn’t long before he was sufficient enough to have decent conversations and understand the telly, though he absolutely refused to adopt an accent.

It was on a Monday morning Arthur found his body unwilling to shake off its lethargy and he spent the morning yawning into a cup of tea as he avoided getting ready for another day of work.

Though Francis worked as a something-or-other at some sort of fashion boutique, he left for work at the same time as Arthur and the beta had had the _brilliant_ idea of leaving together. Of course, Arthur had no bloody excuse—the man lived but a wall away!

When the Frenchman knocked on Arthur’s door, bright and early, the omega grumbled as he grabbed his briefcase. The beta looked as offensively well-groomed as every other day, how he did it, Arthur didn’t know. He barely had time to brush his hair, something Francis felt the need to comment on frequently.

As they walked to the lift, Francis made his habitual comment about Arthur’s unruly eyebrows, an unfortunate genetic hand-me-down, which inflamed the omega’s temper and a half-hearted spat ensued as they waited for the lift to arrive to the sixth floor. It was a routine for them by now.

There were two drowsy-eyed males already inside the lift, an alpha and an omega, almost identical looking and most likely students, Arthur gathered from their bursting rucksacks and casual clothing.

Arthur selected the floor as Francis made a backhanded remark about Arthur’s cooking to which the omega responded viciously with some of his favourite, French expletives.

French may be an unpleasant language but Arthur was more than happy to have obtained the power to insult Francis in two languages.

 

 

With nearly seventy-five percent of the world population consisting of betas, alphas and omegas weren’t entirely rare but they weren’t necessarily the default either. That only really left twelve point five for both, which really just came down to, Alfred figured, a one in eight chance of someone being an omega.

And he was fairly interested in this statistic, because he was an alpha and an alpha’s gotta date, you know? Not to imply that betas didn’t make good partners—they _did_ —but it just wasn’t the same.

So when an omega stepped into the elevator, he paid attention, the sleepiness from before shrinking back in his mind as he tried to look nonchalant about sniffing the air.

The teasing scent of herbs and raspberries tickled his nose and made his chest warm. Not to mention the omega himself was definitely a looker—slim body, refined features, hair that looked wild but he’d bet good money that it was soft to the touch, and big doe-eyes you could probably just drown in.

… And quirky eyebrows, but Alfred was able to overlook that for the bigger picture here.

The omega was a hottie.

He tried to imagine the guy lying next to him in a bed, eyes half lidded in a come-hither bedroom expression. He liked the image. He liked the image a lot.

“Hey, Matt.” Alfred said, not even bothering to whisper as the two other men in the elevator continued on in French. The residents up to floor six were native, so the omega probably didn’t even speak English or, if he did, he probably didn’t speak it well enough to understand them. At least, that was his general impression of the country so far. The French seemed to loathe the English language and took great strides to avoid it.

“What?” His brother replied, looking up from his mobile, suspicious. Alfred knew why: he had that giddy, show-and-tell tone going on that he always did when he was eager to share something with his twin.

“Isn’t that guy over there, like... _super_ hot?”

 

 

It took Francis all of two seconds to notice the alpha and omega accompanying them in the lift. Arthur hadn’t thought much of it, fellow omegas and alphas were relatively uncommon but it was half past seven in the morning, there wasn’t much else on Arthur’s mind other than when his next cup of tea was due and the hours until he would be swathed in his duvet again.

“Now there’s an alpha who could get you wet before your heats— _ow!_ You violent little Englishman, what was that for?!” Francis yelped, rubbing the arm that had been whacked with theatrical carefulness.

Arthur darted his eyes to the other occupants of the lift but they’d barely reacted to Francis’ squawking. Or his words, thankfully.

“You buffoon—they might speak French!”

With a roll of his eyes, Francis said, “They don’t speak French. They’re American.”

 _“Shush!”_ Arthur attempted to conceal his discomfort but it was difficult without hitting the beta again. “It’s not difficult to understand what you’re saying! And how do you know that, anyway?”

“The name of their university is on their jackets.” Francis tipped his head towards the two, indicating as to what he was talking about. “See?”

Bristling, Arthur folded his arms and refused to humour Francis by saying anything more. The beta was right, though, fortunately for him.

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want that alpha between your legs,” the beta crooned, pinching Arthur’s ear and grinning obnoxiously.

Arthur protested, scathingly indignant, of course, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to the alpha in question. He was attractive, very much so. Tall with sun-kissed skin and the body of an athlete. Nothing short of a perfect specimen of an alpha, perhaps surpassing the alphas described in his erotica— _niche novels_. And those bright blue eyes were so lovely, the loveliness only intensified by the spectacles he wore.

Sniffing subtly, Arthur savoured the man’s scent.

He wouldn’t say _no_ to having the alpha between his legs, as Francis had so delicately worded it, but it was out of the question. The alpha was far too young for Arthur.

It was as they were nearing the ground floor, the alpha and omega began to speak and Arthur was stunned to hear the words:  
  
_“Isn’t that guy over there, like... super hot?”_  
  
“The alpha has taste,” Francis said to Arthur, cupping a curl of his hair and flicking it back as if to display his apparent ‘hotness’. Arthur wrinkled his nose in repulsion; the alpha was obviously blind to find any semblance of desirability in Francis. “Even Americans can appreciate my beauty, what a fabulous week this is turning out to be, rosbif.”

Matthew looked at his brother. Then he looked at the two on the other side of the carriage who were clearly talking about them and, moreover, Alfred’s sudden announcement.

“... Al, I think they speak English.”

Alfred shook his head. “The French _hate_ English!” He informed him, then added, “‘Sides, if he’d heard me then he’d be blushing or something, so there’s no way.” Which was actually a particularly astute observation for the alpha.

Well there _was_ a way, because from the bits and pieces Matthew was picking up they were honestly understanding his idiot twin’s every word, but as he opened his mouth he thought better of it and, with no small amount of mirth, decided instead on, “I suppose you’re right then.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

“I didn’t know you were into betas…” Matthew lured.

Alfred frowned at that. “What? No, the omega!” They were always fairly blunt with their own tastes, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary when he continued with, “Isn’t he just, like, really fucking adorable though? I wanna pick him up and take him home with me.”

“So the alpha _doesn’t_ have taste,” Francis mused though he didn’t seem too phased by the alpha’s clarification of _who_ he was attracted to.  
  
Arthur, however, felt disconcertingly light-headed from the revelation. A burning flush blossomed over his face and his throat went tight.  
  
_The alpha thought_ he _was… ‘super hot’?_  
  
“I’d be careful with your blushing, Arthur, he will surely notice,” Francis quipped, tone light with amusement.  
  
The beta was going to get smacked again if he wasn’t careful.

Matthew tried not to laugh, but even if he was half-failing his brother just thought it was his natural ‘alpha charisma and humor’. “Alright, Al, you do that then. Take him home.”

As the elevator lurched to a stop at the lobby, Alfred walked out without so much as a flicker of concern for the beta and omega he’d left behind, carrying on merrily with Matthew, “You’ll regret that if I actually do it.”

“That would be called ‘kidnapping’. The French have a word for it too.”

“Well, when the heart wants what the heart wants…” The alpha mused, laughing.

And then they were gone out the front door and off to the university.

But not before Matthew shot back a mirthful look at the pair following after, his lip quirked and his brow raised in a conspiratorial glance that read something like: _‘This idiot, eh?’_

 

 

Arthur slurped the dregs of his tea as he shrugged on his suit jacket, glowering at the door Francis was impatiently knocking on.  
  
_Bloody irritating Frenchman…_  
  
“Are you quite finished?” Arthur snapped, pulling the door open.  
  
“Was I bothering you?” Francis returned with an infernal grin.  
  
“Are you capable of anything besides bothering me?”  
  
He was met only with amused silence. Locking his door, Arthur marched past Francis in an attempt to distance himself from the man—if he was lucky, he might be able to close the lift doors before Francis could reach them—however, Francis had longer than legs than Arthur and was by the omega’s side in no time, still with that _blasted smirk_.  
  
“My, you are in a hurry all of a sudden, mon cher. Eager to see your little alpha again?” Francis asked.  
  
The omega faltered. He hadn’t thought about the alpha since… last night, in bed, when he’d pictured the stranger as he had… well. No need to go into the finer details.  
  
Arthur had spent most of yesterday thinking about the incident with the idiot in the lift—a pleasant idiot, Arthur had to admit. He had been questioned no less than _three times_ by his fellow teachers regarding the shadow of a smile lingering on his lips. Arthur Kirkland didn’t smile, it was unheard of—unless a particularly handsome alpha had complimented him multiple times, unashamedly and under the impression Arthur couldn’t understand.  
  
What a delightful idiot, indeed.  
  
“Who?” Arthur said, unaffected, _nonchalant_.  
  
Francis laughed. “The alpha you no doubt imagined while—”  
  
“Shut it, will you!” Arthur glanced around; ensuring the corridor was absent of people.  
  
Another laugh, this time stained with wickedness.  
  
“Somebody had a _pleasurable_ night.”  
  
Arthur stabbed his finger against the button beside the lift doors, more than tempted to kick Francis in the shin as he did so.  
  
“No need to worry, Arthur, if he does kidnap you today, I won’t stop him,” the beta said with a wink.  
  
“While I appreciate your assurance that you will not assist me should I be kidnapped by a total stranger, who could be a bloody lunatic for all we know, I highly doubt we will be seeing him again.”  
  
Which was true. While the apartment building was largely home to students due to its affordability and location, the chances of seeing the alpha again were slight at best. It was unfortunate but, realistically, what would become of seeing the American again anyway? Nothing.  
  
Arthur reasoned that it was better to have the sweet memory of the alpha announcing that he found Arthur hot than to have the memory stained by discovering something unsavoury about the stranger or realising his words weren’t genuine.  
  
The doors opened and Arthur stepped inside.

 

 

If there was something that could be said of Alfred, it was this:

When he found something he liked, _he liked it with every fiber of his being._

Matthew had known his brother a long time—his whole life, in fact. And, be it a game, a food item, or a person, he was not ashamed to declare his feelings for things. He relished them. He put his all into them. Albeit with _people_ , he often didn’t say that kind of stuff directly to the person’s face as that was a pretty good way of getting a one-way ticket to Rejection Town.

Alfred was an idiot, but at least he was a little self-aware of his own… _overzealous_ enthusiasm.

How many omegas had it taken for him to learn? Did he get it by the time he was thirteen? Fourteen? That you couldn’t just declare your affection for someone and expect to get anything out of it? Maybe that’s why the alpha was so nonchalant these days—it didn’t take much at all to catch Alfred’s eye, but when it came to omegas, he was also, naturally, just as picky as anyone else.

And love hadn’t exactly been a kind mistress to him.

So it was for that reason that when they arrived at the elevator at the same time as they did every day, Matthew gave his brother a questioning look before they got on. “Are you curious to see if that omega shows up again?”

Alfred blinked. “Ome— _Oh_.” A peculiar expression flickered over his face, half a frown. “I guess so.” He murmured, thoughtful. “I doubt he will though.”

It was odd to see Alfred so negative about a situation like this, but it was also a realistic perspective. How refreshing.

Stepping inside, the carriage stopped at the sixth floor. Again.

Matthew blinked as the doors opened and the two from the day prior made to step inside. He knew they spoke English—he was absolutely certain. But Alfred didn’t. And when Alfred glanced at the omega and then away again, a telltale pink creeping onto to his cheeks, Matthew couldn’t help but perform his brotherly duty of hanging him out to dry.

“It’s him again.” He murmured, but not quietly enough for his words to have been private.

“ _Shut up_ , Matt.” Alfred hissed, looking uncomfortable.

“What? You figured out that they can speak English?”

The alpha went owlish. “What? No— I mean, I doubt they can.”

“So then what are you being shy for? You should ask him out.”

Alfred heaved a sigh, raking his hand through his hair and directing his gaze away at the metallic, semi-reflective surface of the inner walls. He could just make out the shape of the omega in the image. “You know, I kinda thought about that too…”

“And?”

“Well I was talking to Felix and he said French omegas _really_ hate Americans, right? And… I mean, I don’t want him to _hate_ me…” Alfred sounded positively dejected. “So I probably shouldn’t say anything.”

Matthew brows rose. “Wow.” He said. It was all he could think of to say. Since when did his brother consider the feelings of others? He must really like this one...

Alfred nodded sagely, crossing his arms, a gleam in his eye. “So I’ve decided that he’s just going to have to be jerk off material.” He announced, a determined inflection to his words. “If I can’t have him in real life, then at least I can have him in my mind.”

Gaping, Matthew felt even his own ears turn a little red as he tensed and wondered what their poor company must be thinking…

 

 

Arthur halted—his limbs solid as stone—in the doorway of the lift as his eyes landed on the familiar siblings. It took a sharp elbow to the back from Francis for Arthur to reawaken his legs and walk inside, stilted.  
  
His stomach coiled around itself, nerves flitting under his skin like the chaotic flutter of wings.  
  
The alpha was infinitely more striking in person than he was in Arthur’s vivid imaginings. Though, Arthur observed from the corner of his vision, the man had a subdued air about him that hadn’t been present yesterday.  
  
His omega brother was the first to speak— _about Arthur_ —and Arthur had this niggle of a feeling that the omega wasn’t quite as dim as his brother. Perhaps it was a far-fetched theory, but Arthur was _sure_ the omega was goading his brother for his own entertainment and could comprehend every word Francis and Arthur had uttered.  
  
Arthur listened keenly, alongside Francis who was feigning texting, as their conversation unfolded and the alpha revealed he had considered asking Arthur out.  
  
_Asking Arthur out—!_  
  
His pulse stuttered then quickened, sending thuds of heat across his body.  
  
Yes, Arthur’s mind supplied, he was more than ready to accept the alpha’s advances but they never came. Arthur, despite himself, felt slighted when he was referred to as a _French omega_. And just like that, he was reduced to ‘jerking off material’.  
  
Not that he was... offended by that too terribly. Envisioning the alpha touching himself and thinking of Arthur made the omega’s temperature soar, creating tingling ripples of warmth through his blood.  
  
_He_ was the alpha’s _jerking off material_.  
  
Francis hummed, as if he was contemplating something.  
  
“You? French?” the beta scoffed in the aforementioned language. “I’m insulted on behalf of my countrymen. I have no choice but to tell this American your true, unfortunate nationality.”  
  
_“No!”_ Arthur screeched back in the same tongue, shoving the Frenchman with a force that sent the beta careening into the side of the lift. “If you say anything, I will _end you_ , Bonnefoy.”

Alfred and Matthew fell silent at the sudden outburst from the other side of the carriage, staring at the two albeit the omega twin had a bit more sense as to what was going on. He really had no idea how Alfred couldn’t understand the phrase: _“Toi? Français?”_ followed by a condescending laugh…

It was obvious to Matthew that the omega his brother was crushing on—and crushing on _hard_ —wasn’t even French. But how was he supposed to tell him that now? And did he even _want_ to?

But the alpha made up his mind for him as he leaned back and sighed a little longingly at the stranger before glancing away. “Man, he’s so _cute_ when he’s mad. He turns all red. Do you think he would notice if I tried to get a picture of him?”

“Um…” Matthew replied smartly, now feeling more of the pressure on himself since he knew the other two men understood all of this. “That’s probably a bad idea, Al.”

And then,

“I forgot—what was our apartment number again?”

Alfred threw him a perplexed look. “... Uh, 708, right? Why?”

“Just slipped my mind, is all.” Matthew said, determined not to look in the direction of the other passengers. “Thanks.”

“Man, you’re such a scatterbrain…” Alfred teased.

And then the elevator arrived at the lobby once more and the doors slid open and, again, Alfred strode forward without thought to the mess he’d left behind.

This time Matthew didn’t feel quite as amused as he would have liked.

This whole thing was way more serious than he’d first thought.

 

 

Two sets of owlish eyes had peered at Arthur as he went about his attempts to batter Francis into silence. With an audience, however, Arthur ceased in an instant and brushed himself down, averting his eyes, and prayed that the brothers passed the abrupt attack off as something common amongst uncultured Frenchmen.  
  
The alpha made another comment about Arthur’s cuteness and it had an equally dazzling effect on the omega as the last time, perhaps somewhat strengthened now that the alpha had reconfirmed the sentiment.  
  
Strangely, the omega brother enquired about their apartment number. It was said inconspicuously enough but maybe that was the point—to sound convincing. _Was he really dropping hints for Arthur’s sake?_

The numbers—708—sealed themselves inside Arthur’s mind much like a physical brand.

Work crawled by, tiring and languid, as if to torment Arthur and when he caught himself watching the second hand of the clock in his classroom, no better than his young students, Arthur was struck with the realisation that he was wishing his day away so tomorrow would come around faster.  
  
Tomorrow _morning_ , to be exact.  
  
When he was finally home and tucking himself into bed, Arthur had argued with himself enough to come to the conclusion that, one, it was ludicrous to allow himself to become so attached to an alpha he hadn’t even spoken to, and two, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up over encountering the alpha the next day.  
  
Come Wednesday morning, Arthur’s breath didn’t snag in his throat when the lift doors opened, he didn’t feel a burst of disappointment when he found the lift empty and he didn’t wonder where the brothers could possibly be.  
  
He definitely didn’t wonder on Thursday morning or Friday morning when he was presented with the same, vacant lift either.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred didn’t know or care why, but his French literature professor was on strike and so his morning classes had been canceled, which was nice because he was especially bad at literature, let alone literature in another language taught by a beta who stiffly refused to explain anything in English. France was turning out to be a hell of a place.

Which meant that Matthew no longer had to wait until the last minute to leave for his own class. Alfred got to languidly get up two hours later and his brother stopped chewing him out for making him tardy every day. Win-win.

It was on Saturday—a day they both had off—that Matthew said to him, “Hey, if you go get some groceries for dinner tonight then I’ll make breakfast tomorrow. I have a friend coming over to study soon, so I can’t.”

Matthew generally made kick ass pancakes, so Alfred agreed, not thinking too much of it as his brother gave him a list of very specific ingredients that he was supposed to obtain from very specific locations. The alpha took one look at the paper and grimaced, “Are you sure you really need—,”

“Yes.” The omega said hurriedly. “Remember that cooking class I took? Now go.”

And just like that, Alfred was shooed out of his own apartment with nothing more than his wallet, keys, and bag. Sighing, he looked at the list again and grumbled, “This is going to take _hours_...”

As far as Matthew was concerned, that was rather the point.

But he’d agreed and he liked food well enough to be able to enjoy it when it was quality and Matt never really let him down when it came to breakfast so… if in the end he got to order his brother around for seconds and thirds come Sunday morning then it should be worth it, he figured.

With that in mind, he made it to the closest stop, which he figured would be the easiest since he was vaguely familiar with the location, it being the nearest place to get milk. Looking around, he frowned down at the item on the list: some kind of tea.

What the hell did Matthew need tea for?

Staring at a shelf of the stuff, he looked between the scrawled name and the boxes and dragged a hand through his hair. “I swear to God if he’s made this shit up I’m gonna _kill_ him…”

 

  
  
His determination to make a decent roast dinner—and Arthur made a _mean_ roast dinner, if he didn’t say so himself—outshone the problems posed by lack of resources in French supermarkets.

The beef wasn’t British, the gravy wasn’t the _proper stuff_ and no one in the entire country had heard of a Yorkshire pudding—an essential to any decent roast dinner, but Arthur wouldn’t be deterred.

He’d been hit by a spell of homesickness recently and he could think of no better way to remedy it than filling his belly with some good English food. If he was presented with _one more croissant_ , he was going to launch the pastry directly into someone’s face.  
  
After picking up a dozen or so carrots, Arthur wandered to the tea aisle, bypassing the shelves of herbal and fruit teas until he reached the imported section. His usual blend was more expensive than back at home but Arthur wasn’t willing to settle for any of the rubbish the French had to offer.  
  
Dropping the box of tea into his basket, the omega turned to move on to the next aisle—only to crash into someone else.

Being fairly tall with a build on the more muscular side, Alfred was used to people running into him, so it was with quick reflexes that he caught the person by the arm to steady them should they waver or fall. Laughing, he said, “Careful there!”

And then he faltered when he realized who it was.

The omega— _the omega_ —was right there, blinking brilliant green eyes up at him. And they weren’t in an elevator and he couldn’t pretend to not see him or anything and— and moreover this was his chance to finally say something! (Felix be damned, his mind added; the omega was too cute!)

“H- hey, uh… you… Wait, shit you don’t speak English, huh?” Alfred fumbled. He was making a mess of this and he winced. What French did he know? Uh…

 

 

A hand clasped Arthur’s arm, steadying him, and the fragrant scent of an alpha danced under his nose, a comforting balm to his alerted senses.

That scent…

Arthur’s eyes went wide as he recognised where he had smelled it before.

The alpha from the lift—and there he stood, his face bare centimetres away from Arthur’s.

He enquired about Arthur’s supposed inability to speak English and it dawned on the omega that he would have to pretend to have difficulty understanding the American and he would have to fake an accent. Lest he risk embarrassing himself and the alpha if the man realised Arthur had followed every word that had been said during their encounters in the lift.

“I… um…”

He shook his head. That was easier than speaking.

Alfred laughed gently, feeling awkward but elated to finally be talking to _the_ omega that had been plaguing his more romantic and perverted dreams as of late. He didn’t know his name or his story but he’d imagined him naked _more than enough_ to warrant finally talking to him, he figured.

_That lithe body stretched out over his bed, Alfred’s fingers dancing down his sides. Oh yes, yes, yes, yes..._

But how to keep him around when he didn’t know a damn lick of French?

And then he remembered the list in his hand and the selection of teas that had been baffling him and a lightbulb went off. Who would know better than a native? It was two birds with one stone!

“You wouldn’t happen to know where this is, would you?” He asked, pointing at the first thing on the list. The guy had to at least be able to read, right?

As the alpha looked at Arthur, there was a bright smoulder of _something_ in his eyes, as if his thoughts had strayed in a deliciously indecent direction for a flicker of a moment.

What Arthur wouldn’t give to have a peek at what was happening in the alpha’s head.

Before he could delve too deeply into that train of thought, Arthur was being presented with a list. Only a few items had been crossed off and what remained seemed oddly specific to Arthur—but who was he to judge.

The brand of tea the alpha was searching for was easy enough to find.

Arthur gestured for the man to follow him, feeling like a bit of a prat having to carry on with the _not-speaking-English_ business. How he’d gotten himself into such a _ridiculous_ situation was beyond him.

He pointed to the top shelf, being unable to reach it himself.

“There,” he told him.

“Oh, wow! Thanks.” Alfred said, feeling a sudden surge of gratitude for the omega who was not only adorable but had _the_ cutest voice and, gah, what he wouldn’t do to _hear him moan_ …

It was a pity all he knew was French but, hey, French could be sexy. _Omelette du fromage_ , right? It was common knowledge that it was the ‘language of love’. And now he desperately wanted the omega to _speak it_ to him.

He gestured to himself warmly, “My name’s Alfred.” He tried. That _had_ to be understandable, right? ‘Alfred’ was probably a name in French, too.

_Alfred_.

Arthur had heard the alpha’s brother—Matt, if he wasn’t mistaken—refer to him as ‘Al’ but there was something about the name on the alpha’s own lips that made excitement curl inside Arthur.

It was a lovely name, a fitting name—the perfect amount of syllables to be screamed into a pillow.

“You’re welcome,” the omega returned, smothering his voice with an unflattering French accent. “My name is Arthur.”

It was weirdly ragged around the edges, like English a kid at a local playground might know from television, but Alfred felt his heart flutter even if the politeness was just the kind of thing one stranger might act out for another. Yes this— _this_ he could work with.

The omega didn’t seem bothered by him or his accent or his build or his personality, so Felix could suck it. He’d have this ‘Arthur’— _Arthur_ , what a fitting name—soon enough.

Clearing his throat, he tried to act smooth as he said, “I know, uh… you probably don’t know how to say much or even know half of what I’m saying…” he laughed, “but, um… my brother wants me to find these things. Can you help?”

He showed the omega the list again.

Acting as though there was a language barrier between them was nothing short of exhausting but the American was eager to speak to him, and, more importantly, Arthur knew for certain that Alfred was attracted to him. The possibility of the alpha actually asking him out was too great for Arthur to even consider stopping.

And so he blundered on, thankful that Alfred didn’t appear to notice how inaccurate Arthur’s pronunciations were.

Taking another glance at the shopping list, Arthur simply said, “Yes.”

Alfred lit up, hoping the omega knew what it was that he was agreeing to as the alpha clutched tea in one hand, list in the other, and beamed at him. “Great! Follow me then!” He enthused, leading the way to the registers.

One quick purchase later had them out on the streets.

Now, every romance _ever_ usually had some kind of plot revolving around star-crossed lovers, right? And what bigger barrier was there than language? Arthur didn’t understand Alfred and Alfred sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to understand _him_ , but what did that matter? The omega had agreed to help him, he seemed nice enough, and so that was enough.

He was convinced he had a chance.

So he had to at least _try_.

 

 

Matthew’s list was insane; it had them going all over the city to various places Alfred either didn’t know or couldn’t find. He was pretty sure at this rate he’d outright reject any future lists his brother tried to bribe him into filling, at least while they were in France and he didn’t have a car.

But… on the bright side: Arthur.

Arthur was a tough little omega—or maybe just an incredibly _kind_ one—but he kept with him through the whole thing. And when the clouds in the sky opened up and started to pour out their contents, Alfred snagged his arm and dragged him under an overhang to wait out the sudden onslaught.

The omega looked a shade wet and tired and Alfred couldn’t help but nudge him slightly with an elbow and a grin.

“This is kind of like an adventure isn’t it?” He asked him, knowing he wouldn’t really understand. If this trip had taught him _anything_ , it was that the omega’s grasp on English was severely limited. Glancing at the rain, his lip quirked, “I bet you don’t even know what I’m saying, huh?”

Arthur’s feet throbbed inside his shoes, splats of rain had dripped right under his shirt collar, chilling him to the core, and he had no bloody clue what that shopping list had been all about—no doubt they’d trekked the length and breadth of the entire country after yo-yoing to all those shops.  
  
Nevertheless, the omega was all warm and fuzzy inside after having spent his day with Alfred.  
  
It had been frustrating not being able to converse with alpha properly but it had been more than worthwhile. For each time Alfred had smiled at him, Arthur had accumulated another wish. He wished Alfred would ask him out for a date, a _real_ date, he wished Alfred would kiss him, he wished Alfred would invite him back to his apartment…  
  
He received another effervescent smile from the alpha and Arthur’s rationality was reduced to mere fumes, high off the thrill those smiles ignited in him.

In answer to Alfred’s question, he arched an eyebrow and shrugged.

Alfred laughed, “Yeah, I know.” He hummed, rocking on his heels. It hadn’t rained much in France since he’d gotten there but it seemed to be making up for that now. The weather had amazing timing, however, if it meant he was able to be with Arthur longer. “I really want to tell you that I like you, but I can’t speak French.” He admitted aloud, because with the omega unable to understand him it really wasn’t any different than just thinking it in his head.

He could kiss him, he knew. That was basically a universal message—when you kissed someone it only meant one thing, didn’t it? But it didn’t feel right to just swoop in and do it when he didn’t even know if Arthur had any interest in him back…

Then again, what choice did he have? Kiss him and make him angry enough that the omega avoided him or don’t kiss him and risk Arthur getting away without ever being able to understand how he felt. The latter seemed ultimately tragic.

It took only a second. Perhaps not even that.

He looked over, brushed some of the wet hair away from the omega’s cheek, and leaned down for an achingly tender press of lips—quiet and sweet, the rain and bustle of umbrella-clad people fading away into the background.

As he pulled back, his breath tight, the downpour faded off into a manageable drizzle.

Arthur _melted_ , hot and silk and liquid, as Alfred kissed him. The contact was short, sweetly so, and a little unsure, Arthur barely had the chance to reciprocate, but it was a _kiss_ nonetheless.

He felt weightless, like petals carried away by a breeze, uncaring of their destination.

This alpha would be the death of him.

Lovely, foolish Alfred and his unreserved fondness for Arthur. Not once in the omega’s life had he been on the receiving end of such genuine affection.

Arthur sobered with a sour swallow of reality.

He couldn’t pursue a relationship with Alfred under the pretence that he couldn’t speak a lick of English but telling him, ending the charade, would no doubt send the alpha scrambling to distance himself from Arthur. What sort of individual took advantage of an unsuspecting person as Arthur had? He was no better than a school child reading a stolen diary. Alfred wouldn’t understand, or want to understand, and Arthur couldn’t blame him for that.

He took one last look into the alpha’s eyes.

“I like you too,” Arthur told him, speaking in quiet French. “Goodbye, Alfred.”

And then he left Alfred standing there.

 

 

As universal as a kiss was, leaving the person who had kissed you shortly after was just as impossible to misunderstand.

Alfred had been rejected.

_Thoroughly and utterly._

The omega had almost seemed as though he might reciprocate but then he looked at Alfred and his eyes had been sad. Maybe he was disappointed with him? Maybe Alfred had gone too far? Or maybe Arthur had someone else that he loved? But no matter what, the soft inflections of the omega’s voice had been tinged with something mournful. French or not, Alfred didn’t need to understand it to know that Arthur didn’t intend to have anything more to do with him.

Left alone, standing out of the rain with a bag full of things he’d been sent out for and a list with every item crossed off… Alfred’s chest felt pinched and squeezed.

Even if another attractive omega happened to pass by right then, he probably wouldn’t even notice. Brilliant, mossy eyes lit up by the dazzle of streetlights, nestled in a clouded face, filled his mind. Arthur had been _perfect_ , that was all there was too it.

And now he was gone.

Stepping out from his shelter, the sky still spitting rain, the alpha made for home. It took him a long time to find it, being generally lost and largely unable [or maybe unwilling] to ask for directions, but eventually he did. Walking into the building, he avoided the elevator for the stairs simply due to the reasoning that right now the little metal box would drudge up memories he was trying to avoid but desperately couldn’t.

Unlocking his unit’s door, he stepped inside and dropped the bag of supplies in the entryway. There was a slight scramble of noise in the living room, but it barely prodded his curiosity. As he walked in and saw his brother and another person there, a beta, the smell of arousal undeniably in the air along with what seemed to be their dinner, he just shrugged it off.

Normally he felt more protective of his brother but now? Well… at least _someone_ was getting somewhere with their love life. Who the hell was he to break them up?

“Al!” Matthew was quick to say, already standing, an explanation on his lips—

“I got your stuff.” Alfred interrupted, tone defeated.

Not wanting to really be around other people at the moment, he just went to his room and closed the door, leaving his brother and the stranger alone.

 

 

“I brought wine,” Francis proclaimed, kicking the door closed behind him and meandering into Arthur’s kitchen. “I thought it would be necessary. For me, not you. I know better than to give you alcohol.”

“Just invite yourself in then!” Arthur barked, pausing the film he had been watching. Not a tragic love story, obviously, something manly with fighting and all that rot. “The social custom to knock before entering someone’s home is still in effect, you do realise.”

Francis emerged into the lounge after having poured himself a _generous_ glass of wine. He plopped himself next to Arthur on the sofa.

“So,” the beta said.

Arthur flattened his lips, unamused by Francis’ purposeful attempts at being cryptic.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Happened with what?” Arthur bit, toying with the idea of tipping Francis’ glass into his face and drowning him in that acrid wine.

“With Alfred?”

Eyes narrowing with dark curiosity, Arthur asked, “How do you know his name?”

“Mathieu, his brother, told me when I visited him not too long ago,” Francis explained, unaffected by the steady boil of Arthur’s temper.

A sharp sound of fury slipped past Arthur’s lips.

“I cannot _believe_ you!”

“What? You can go frolicking with your little alpha but I can’t have any fun of my own?” Francis responded, his accent lilting with faux indignation. “That’s terribly unfair, mon cher.”

“Don’t _‘mon cher’_ me, frog! What did you say to his brother?”

“He was already aware you are not French—not that it is difficult to figure out with the way you butcher my beautiful language. Besides, Mathieu speaks perfect French; he understood everything that was said.”

“Then why wouldn’t he—”

“He didn’t mention it to Alfred for the same reason we didn’t—it was entertaining.” Setting his wine down, Francis shuffled closer to Arthur and patted the omega’s hand. “You’ve broken that poor alpha’s heart.”

Arthur snorted. “Hardly. We don’t even know each other.”

“Well, Alfred is not faring well. Mathieu is worried about him; apparently he has barely left the apartment… much like you.” Arthur ducked his eyes away from Francis’, discomfort itching along his limbs.

“He kissed me,” Arthur blurted, surprising himself with the eruption of words. “He said he liked me again and he… well, he’s bloody _perfect_ , isn’t he!? I didn’t want to hurt him, if he found out that I’ve understood everything he’s said, he wouldn’t—…”

“Did you run off?”

“Of course I did—I didn’t have a choice! He can’t find out that I speak English, Francis, and if you tell him—”

“I won’t tell him,” Francis placated, rubbing his thumb across Arthur’s. “But don’t you think he deserves to know? I’m sure he won’t—”

“No,” the omega interrupted, conviction making his tone steely. “I think it would be best to pretend none of this ever happened. I’m sure Alfred will forget.”

 

 

“Alfred…?” Matthew called, knocking gently at his brother’s door. When the alpha didn’t open it he sighed and tried the handle. It was unlocked.

Opening the door slowly so as to not surprise his twin with his entrance, he peered inside to find his brother looking out the window, as forlorn as a puppy at a shop that no one had stopped to look at or play with. While he was sympathetic to his plight, it had been _days_...

He’d never seen the alpha sulk this long over someone turning him down before.

But it couldn’t be helped. Boxes were neatly stacked, beds stripped, and dressers and closets emptied. His own luggage was sitting neatly in the living room and the rest of their belongings were going to be picked up via truck any minute now and driven off to be flown back to the states.

By the end of the day they would be on an airplane headed straight for New York, and, with how much Alfred had complained about France, he would have thought the alpha to be happy about their departure.

Matthew shook his head. “You know you’ll get over it before you know it.” He told him, walking in and sitting on the edge of the bare mattress.

For a moment Alfred was quiet. Then he drew a breath and came away from the window to sit next to him, propped his hands on the cushion and leaned back. “Yeah, I guess so.” He relented. He didn’t feel like that was the truth, but it didn’t matter did it? Cracking a smile, he ran his fingers through his hair. “He didn’t even speak _English_ , Matt. If we’d had babies they’d be—… they’d be _multilingual_. And then I wouldn’t know what _they_ said half the time either!” He joked.

The omega nudged his brother encouragingly. “That’s the spirit! When we get back we’ll go to McDonald’s okay?” The alpha had complained that France’s locations weren’t ‘right’ and largely didn’t like them. “And then, who knows, maybe fate will throw you a busty brunette eating chicken nuggets and you’ll meet eyes and— love.”

Alfred actually laughed, shaking his head, “ _What the fuck_.” He exhaled, the image of it too much for him.

“Maybe her father will even own a franchise and you’ll get a discount every time you go there.”

“Matt, I don’t like McDonald’s _that_ much.” The alpha protested.

“Don't deny it. You know you want an omega that mouth-fucks french fries.”

“ _Oh my god_ , shut up!” Alfred shoved Matthew and the omega fell over in a fit of giggles and, somehow, magically, the weight of the air around Alfred felt a little lighter.

Standing, he stretched out his back.

“Now if you’re done sitting there talking about some fast food porno, we gotta get going. _‘Merica_ waits for no man.” He announced, reinvigorated, as he grabbed a box and started to haul it out into the living room.

Matthew watched him go, mirthful smile fading into something bittersweet. Slipping his cell phone out of his pocket, he sent a certain someone the message: _‘We’ll be leaving soon.’_

Sighing for his own reason, he glanced out the window and made a fond note of the clouded skies outside.

Leaving France was going to be difficult for his own reasons, he realized.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [justa-fangirl](http://justa-fangirl.tumblr.com/) for corrections on the French!

When his mobile rang for _the third time_ , Arthur realised he was going to have to answer or Francis was going to waltz over, barge into Arthur’s home again and make a fuss about some sort of fashion disaster that had happened at work or whatever it was that warranted the Frenchman calling three times.  
  
He accepted the call.  
  
“This had better be important or—”  
  
“Alfred is leaving,” Francis interjected with a seriousness that was unusual for the beta.  
  
“I—what? Leaving where? The apartment?”

Apprehension quickly snaked its way into Arthur’s belly and grew heavier until Arthur wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear Francis’ response.

_Alfred was leaving?_

“The country, _imbécile!_ ” Francis yelled, seemingly exasperated. “Do you remember the apartment number?”

Fraught, Arthur said around a burst of breath, “708, wasn’t it? Why?”

“You’re not just going to let him leave, are you?”

“What are you expecting me to do? Knock on his door and bare my soul to him?!”

“Yes!”

Arthur dropped on to the sofa, his knees wobbling at the prospect of doing _that_ —confessing to Alfred.

He swallowed, his throat tight with queasiness. He couldn’t do it, and why would he? Wasn’t it the logical and less painful solution to let Alfred leave without seeing him again? Arthur didn’t know Alfred’s last name, his age, which state in America he was from—even if there was an exquisite magnetism between him and Alfred, even if he did feel as though they’d known each other for years and Arthur hadn’t laughed so much in his entire life as he had after one day with Alfred—they were essentially strangers.

And if Arthur did pour out his heart at Alfred’s doorstep, the chances of the alpha staying for Arthur, let alone forgiving Arthur for his deception, were miniscule.

There was a loud sigh at the other end of the line.

“I hope you make the right decision, Arthur, he’s leaving _very_ soon.”

Francis ended the call.

“Oh, fucking hell!”

The omega shot out his apartment, neglecting to lock the door, and took to the stairs, two at a time, until he reached the floor where Alfred’s apartment should be.

_705, 706, 707… 708._

Close to vomiting, Arthur tapped on the door, instantly regretting it when he heard movement drawing closer. He backed away, muscles strung in preparation to bolt and he almost did—until it was too late and Alfred was standing in the doorway, the shock of seeing Arthur evident on his face.

“Hello… I—um…”

_Christ, he hadn’t even thought about what to say._

Clenching his palms, slippery with sweat, and taking in a shuddering breath, Arthur pressed on, determined to ignore the emotional devastation this would cause him when Alfred did inevitably send him away.

“I suppose I should start off by saying I can speak English. I _am_ English, in fact.”

This had been an utterly terrible idea. His worst yet.

“I am sorry, truly, for having pretended otherwise. I was flattered, you see, when you said those things about me—” Arthur couldn’t meet Alfred’s eyes anymore, his words were failing him and he knew that his face was stained crimson. “No one has spoken about me like that before and… well; I didn’t want you to stop. It was selfish and senseless of me—I didn’t mean any harm by it, I—”

Arthur straightened himself. If he was going to make a fool out of himself, he may as well keep the illusion of dignity for as long as possible.

“I like you, a great deal,” Arthur admitted. “I like you too,” he said in French, repeating what he had said to Alfred after their shopping trip.

Alfred... honestly didn’t know what to say.

He gaped, wordless and soundless, not even a squeak in his throat.

This felt like some kind of elaborate dream— _Arthur_ , standing here, _speaking English_ and _declaring he liked him back_. It just couldn’t be real. He had to scrub at his eyes a moment just to make sure it actually _was_. (And he would have pinched himself too, because if this was a dream then, wow, this was definitely _the worst_ rejection he had ever had—but he didn’t think to do it.)

Had he been able to put the flint of his mind to work creating a flicker of sensical thought, he might have possibly said something along the lines of: _‘Thank God you’re not French.’_ or _‘Holy hell, English accents are sexy.’_

So, to that end, maybe it was a good thing that language completely and utterly failed him, because instead he swept the omega up into his arms and kissed the life out of him, mindless to the place and time and unawares of any near bystanders who bore witness to an overly passionate—almost desperate—display in the hallway of a cheap apartment building.

This really was the best kind of language after all.

The kiss was decidedly less chaste than the first they had shared, and as Alfred moved his lips against Arthur's, fevered with desire, Arthur decided he was more than okay with that.

Strong arms encircled Arthur, drawing him closer, until he was leaning against the alpha, their bodies firmly pressed together, and Arthur had to stand on his toes to continue the kiss. The moan that resonated from him, somewhere at the base of his throat, was embarrassingly wanton. Alfred growled in response, the sound turning Arthur into a molten mess of sultry arousal.

Not once breaking the contact, Alfred began to walk them into his apartment.

Yet it was not to be.

“Hey, Al, I’m happy for you— _really_ —but our taxi is going to be here in five minutes, so…”

The sound of his brother’s voice snapped Alfred out of rosey passion with the icy coldness of reality. His simmering blood turned arctic as he surfaced from the kiss, fingers perhaps digging a little firmly into the omega’s back, as though he was unwilling to let him go.

Swallowing, his instincts clung to the tethers of his arousal even as his mind steered him away, towards reason.

He slowly, reluctantly released Arthur, remorseful. “... I’m sorry.” He murmured, a touch bitter at the hand fate had cast him. He began to carefully adjust the omega’s ruffled clothing affectionately, as though putting him back to the way he had been rather than, well… ripping the garments right off of him like he wanted to. Laughing, he half-dragged teeth over his lip, feeling both stupidly giddy and ruefully. “You’re perfect, you know that? So if you ever come to America…”

What exactly had he expected from this, Arthur wondered. For Alfred to drop everything and stay in France for him?  
  
_How utterly ridiculous._  
  
The omega stepped away from the alpha, widening the space between them to collect himself one strewn piece at a time. His head was too quick to become foggy around Alfred, especially after that kiss, the kiss that still caressed his lips.  
  
Arthur was embarrassed, he was disappointed, he was also, unreasonably, slighted by what had occurred—his chest swelling with a childish spike of anger that Alfred _wasn’t_ staying for him. Most of all, he felt hollowed, scooped out from the inside, that this was the sharp, sudden end of whatever could have been with Alfred.  
  
Using that kiss as an indicator, it would have been pleasurably _vigorous_ at the very least.  
  
He should never have let himself become so hopelessly _attached_.  
  
Allowing coldness to harden his exterior, he nodded curtly at Alfred.  
  
“Yes, of course. I’ll look you up.”

The exchange of their numbers saw them parted, Alfred in a taxi and Arthur left behind in a city that grew further and further from the traveling alpha with every heartbeat. Alfred’s belongings were spread out over the land, going by sea or air or whatever back home where they would arrive at his doorstep as he returned to his boring, single university life.

But the memory of the last words he said to Arthur never left him:

_‘Here… This is my number. I know you— I know this isn’t ideal. But. I mean, I can’t—... I can’t just give up on… us. So. Call me. Or text me. Maybe?’_

And then, because he just couldn’t keep his damned mouth shut...

_‘This is probably inappropriate, but I think I love you, y’know?’_

He was already on a plane by the time he realized just how expensive long-distance communication was and he groaned and half-slapped himself, glad for once that his brother had taken the opportunity to indulge in a nap although the stewardess did send a questioning glance his way.

How the hell was Arthur supposed to _call him_ or whatever if it cost a fortune? He should have just given him his email or something! At least then he’d have a chance!

So it didn’t surprise him overly much when a full week passed with no contact from the omega. After a second week, he began to resign himself to the fact that Arthur would probably never actually message him. The omega likely thought he was a creep for practically declaring his undying love for him off of nothing but a couple of stolen kisses and some, as Matthew had put it, ‘mangled French’.

The regret of not getting _his_ phone number burned an ache in the alpha’s chest…

But maybe it was time to give up after all.

 

 

Arthur shook a few handfuls of pasta into a pan and poured boiling water over the shells before bringing it to the hob. He enjoyed cooking pasta because it was simple enough (and no, regardless of Francis’ opinion, he did not overcook it) and he always made sure there was enough hot water left for a cup of tea.  
  
Retrieving the readymade creamy sauce from the fridge, Arthur spared a glance at the piece of paper pinned under a double-decker bus magnet, as he did every time he was in the kitchen.  
  
It had been over two weeks since Alfred had travelled back to the States and Arthur was a bloody coward.  
  
He couldn’t do it—he couldn’t call him.  
  
He wanted to, dear lord, did the omega want to, and he spent entire evenings with his fingers hovering over the keypad of his phone, telling himself to _just do it_ , but the evenings soon diminished into nights and he’d give up, go to bed, and tell himself that _tomorrow_ , tomorrow he’d have gathered the nerve.  
  
Then it occurred to Arthur: he could text Alfred.  
  
While sending a text wasn’t all that courageous of him, rather timid in fact, it was manageable. Up until he began to fret about what the text would contain.  
  
_Dear Alfred?_ No, far too formal.  
  
_Kisses?_ No, too familiar.  
  
Then again, the alpha had professed his love for Arthur.  
  
A wide, radiant smile graced Arthur’s lips as he tucked into his meal and a glass of wine (he wasn’t a lover of wine but Francis had left the bottle and free booze was still booze).  
  
That memory was a frequently abused one; Arthur revisited it more than he revisited the kiss—which usually floated to the surface for any… nocturnal activities he indulged in.  
  
_‘This is probably inappropriate, but I think I love you, y’know?’_  
  
He let out a peel of gentle laughter and happiness effervesced under his skin.  
  
Alfred probably didn’t love him. He was young and impulsive and extroverted, the confession had been blurted in a moment of pressure that had been heated by a kiss but that didn’t detract anything from the delight it inspired in Arthur.  
  
Alfred _thought_ he loved Arthur and that was more than enough.  
  
The wine went down easily, too easily considering it tasted like vinegar, and soon he was finishing a third glass and fumbling on his phone with chaotic fingers.  
  
Tonight was the night.

He tapped in the number from the piece of paper and stared at the blurred screen of the phone.  
  
He needed to be honest with Alfred since he didn’t have a track record for that particular trait when it came to the alpha.  
  
And if he was being honest…  
  
_‘I miss you.’_  
  
He supposed it would only be polite to let Alfred know who the text was from so he added his name with half a dozen ‘x’s.  
  
Grinning lopsidedly, he tapped the send button and promptly nodded off on the sofa with an empty wine glass dangling from his hand.

 

 

It was mid-afternoon when Alfred’s phone buzzed on his desk.

He looked at it, looked at his textbook, and then leaned up to grab it, glancing curiously at the screen—well-earned distractions were hard to come by these days.

He nearly dropped it in surprise at what he read.

Arthur was messaging him.

_Arthur!_

Either that, or this was some cruel prank. But no! The area code checked out from what he knew, so it was entirely plausible that this was him. But ‘I miss you’? If he missed him, then why did it take him so long to message him…?

That didn’t stop the giddy, lovelorn feathers that tickled his blood.

Alfred wasn’t going to risk losing this even if it was possible his brother, or someone else, was toying with him. So he replied with a cautious but eager:

_‘I was beginning to worry I gave you the wrong number. I miss you too!’_

There. Easy. Simple. Short. Even surprisingly well-written. (Thanks auto-correct.)

And if later someone started heckling him and it showed the whole thing to be a joke then he could look at them point blank and call them an asshole. For now though, he sat by excitedly, anxious for another reply.

None came.

Alfred tapped his fingers along his desk. If Arthur had just messaged him then there was no reason why he wouldn’t see his response right away. Which meant that, in turn, he would respond right away. Right?

Right?

The omega didn’t.

Laying back on his bed and just staring up at his phone—procrastination taken to the extreme—Alfred tilted it back and forth for a moment before typing up:

_‘You know, I still think you’re cute when you’re mad, but I really like your smile too. Trade pictures?’_

There. He could be satisfied with that.

 

 

Arthur woke not ten minutes later, head swimming in wine and a buzzing by his hip.  
  
_The phone…_  
  
He reached down for it but misjudged his equilibrium and went tumbling to the floor in a flail of limbs.  
  
“Bloody… fuck…” he groaned, rubbing a sore spot on his thigh that would definitely bruise come morning.  
  
Not bothering to move from the floor, Arthur patted his hand over the sofa in search of his phone and discovered it wedged between pillows. There were two texts, both from a number not saved to his contacts.  
  
Giggling through a hiccup, Arthur realised it must have been Alfred.  
  
As he read the first text, taking longer than he would have liked to admit, Arthur was pinched by guilt. Alfred had been worrying, because Arthur hadn’t been brave enough to contact the alpha he was crazy about. The second text was composed of compliments, sweet compliments that brought colour to Arthur’s cheeks, as well as a request for a picture.  
  
_Oh god, a picture…_  
  
Like most people, Arthur had various talents (he wasn’t one to boast but he was rather exceptional with a pair of knitting needles) but taking pictures of himself wasn’t one of those talents.  
  
Unsure about the nature of Alfred’s request, Arthur responded with:  
  
_‘What sort of picture?’_

 

 

This time Arthur responded.

Alfred nearly dropped his phone on his face as it buzzed in his hand, but the object landed by his head instead. Deciding that this position probably wasn’t the best for back-and-forth communications, he rolled over onto his stomach and readjusted.

What _sort_ of picture—?

The alpha’s mind immediately jumped to the explicit.

He stared down at the screen, brow knit in thought, before he grinned to himself and jokingly tapped out:

_‘Whatever kind you feel like sending. ;) lol’_

If Arthur got mad he’d say he was kidding. If he didn’t, then…

Well, then Alfred might really get to verify that this was Arthur after all in the most delicious of ways.

 

 

What kind of picture did he feel like sending to Alfred?  
  
Alfred who thought he loved Arthur.  
  
Heat swept across the omega’s body, fluttery heat drizzled in the alcohol circulating through his system. What he would give to have Alfred here with him now. What he would have _given_ for the alpha to have ravished him that day, even if they’d have no choice but to continue in the hallway or miss Alfred’s flight.  
  
Opening the camera on his phone, Arthur wriggled around until the angle of his face was acceptable and then snapped a photo. He was a little red in the picture, most likely from the wine and the rush of arousal, and his shirt was hanging off one shoulder, almost revealing a nipple.  
  
It was risqué, only mildly so, but the photo made Arthur’s lewd state of mind evident. Alfred couldn’t possibly misinterpret it.  
  
A tiny voice in the back of his head said it was much too forward, much too desperate, but he could hardly hear the voice over the thrum of his excitement and so the picture was sent before he had time to fully comprehend what he had just done.

 

 

The image that loaded onto his phone really _did_ manage to surprise Alfred, who stared at it openly even as his heart jittered to catch up and his mind gave a happy little cheer of, _‘It’s really him!’_

Arthur was dazzlingly flushed, lips looking far too damn kissable to be legal, and his shirt was crooked and—hell, Alfred had been excited before but this jumped the memory of their kiss right into his brain and he was beginning to feel a little hot under the collar. Taking a steadying breath, he considered what he should send back. What would be a good trade for an image that made his love interest look like a cross between a Sex God and an Incubus?

It didn’t take him long to figure something out.

He stripped off his shirt and leaned back against the wall that met his bed. Taking a few shots, he finally found one that got a bit of good lightning and grinned as he sent it back.

As an alpha, he was built for sport—and sport he played. A few different ones, sure, but his time in France hadn’t _all_ been academics. There was nothing more satisfying that roughing it with a bunch of alphas that cursed at you in a language you didn’t know when you won. And that had netted him burnt off energy and abs you could do laundry on.

Egotistical, maybe, but alphas were damn proud creatures and the body had to be a reflection of that. He hoped Arthur enjoyed it as much as he did.

He added with the picture, _‘oh yours is good. i’m gonna have uses for that. how’s this in return? ;)’_

 

 

Arthur’s mouth watered and the blood in his head promptly rushed south upon opening Alfred’s photo.  
  
_Dear lord_ … the man was like a sculpted Greek statue, all ridged muscles and unblemished skin and so breathtakingly alpha. Arthur imagined how warm that skin would be under his touch, how deliciously powerful Alfred would feel above Arthur, enflaming every type of wild, tantalising sensation in the omega.

Thoughts becoming saturated with fantasies of knots and heats and mating marks and Alfred—Alfred everywhere, consuming him—Arthur twisted on the floor as he realised he was ever so slightly damp between his legs.

Replying to Alfred’s text, Arthur typed:  
  
_‘It’s perfect. And I’m going to make use of it, right now.’_

 

 

Alfred felt a little, pleasurable shudder run down his spine at the newest message, a panged, almost _painful_ longing and arousal stirring in him at the thought that alone, in that little apartment in that cheap French building, the omega was looking at a picture of him and touching himself.

It was almost enough to convince Alfred to buy a plane ticket right then and there.

But that was unrealistic and he couldn’t exactly tell Arthur to _‘Hold that thought.’_ as he popped off onto an international flight, logistics aside. The omega was horny and he was horny now—whatever the reason for it. Who was Alfred to stand in the way of that?

However it _did_ bump getting off from a ‘later’ thing to a ‘now’ thing as his hand palmed at his cock through his jeans and found himself already half-hard. Slipping it free, he ran his fingers along the sensitive skin and hissed, blood lit fire by the idea of Arthur—just Arthur. Either with him or without him, slim omega fingers teasing a wet omega ass.

God, the base of his length, his knot, was swelling just at the thought of it. Maybe only a little bit, but without an omega in heat around that was a damn lot more than nothing at all. This was going to be a good session.

Not forgetting the fact that he had a partner in all of this, he sent back:

_‘i should have fucked you in that hallway’_

Feeling shamelessly dirty he added,

_‘wouldn’t matter if people saw us’_

 

 

Arthur had never been in such a rush to remove his trousers in his life, though his uncoordinated hands slowed the process and he ended up flopping about like a fish on land trying to get the blasted things off.

Naked from the waist down, he felt slick trickle under the curve of his thigh and on to the floor. He had never been this wet outside of a heat; male omegas didn’t tend to produce a lot of lubrication unless it was ‘that time’.

He slipped two fingers inside himself and relished in the illusion that it was Alfred’s fingers, or perhaps something even more pleasing than the alpha’s fingers. He visualised how Alfred’s face would contort when he was overcome by pleasure or how he would look at Arthur as they rocked against each other.

Grappling for his phone, Arthur laboured through a one-handed text, surprising himself with the legibility and boldness of it once he’d hit send.

_‘You should have. Perhaps, instead, you could tell me what you would have done…’_

 

 

That plane ticket idea was beginning to sound better and better, but for now Alfred contented himself with the heated stroking of tender flesh and sharp exhales of breath when particularly enjoyable waves of fire washed through him all the way down to his toes. His brain was a cotton fluff of instinct and daydreams and he licked his lips before swallowing down excess saliva, hungry enough for the omega that it was making him feel antsy.

Exhaling a long breath, he tapped out:

_‘well first ur clothes gotta go so i’d get rid of those. just leaving them everywhere. and then i’d ask if u wanted to be ground into the carpet or the wall. i’d bet you’d say the wall, naughty omega...’_

God, and what a glorious image that was too—Alfred with Arthur pinned against old wallpaper, head tilted back and lips occupied by his own as he ground against him. If it were porn then the omega’d get wet enough to leak and it’d drip down his legs, forming a puddle on the floor. The alpha would line himself up and…

Alfred realized belatedly that after sending the message his eyes had closed, envisioning it, but then he paused briefly to send another.

_‘would u beg for me if I teased you? i bet ur loud in bed. u seem the type. what would u say? u should say it out loud to yourself right now...’_

And… there.

Returning to his own imagination, he wondered if he would even last long enough for the omega to send another message. Fuck, what he would have done to be able to actually _hear_ him…

 

 

Arthur keened, breathy and aching, swivelling his pelvis and parting his legs as if to accept Alfred’s advance. He tightened around his fingers, the muscles reacting involuntary as the beginnings of an orgasm budded, tendrils of it reaching out over his body and tormenting every nerve ending.

He wasn’t going to last long, not with Alfred in his mind, under his skin.

_God, against the wall._

He would beg, beg desperately. He couldn’t stand to be teased if Alfred reduced him to this state of fierce _need_.

Arthur quickened his pace, dragging teeth over his lip as the burning hold of pleasure squeezed around him.

_Alfred wanted him to say something, aloud. What would he say?_

_He’d say…_

“Alfred,” he moaned, tasting the name on his tongue. “Alfred,” he said again and again until it was chant, a sensual cry bringing him closer and closer to the brink.

_Nearly, nearly._

“Arthur!”

The omega stilled like prey sensing a predator was close by and he felt the orgasm he’d been chasing scuttle away, dowsed in cold shock.

He’d been so close, so _blissfully_ close, that he couldn’t tell whether it had been himself calling out Alfred’s name or someone was actually in his home, calling out _his_ name.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out, however, because Francis came strolling into the room seconds later, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline at the sight he was met with: partially-nude Arthur splayed out on his living room floor, infused with the scent of arousal and slick, and his fingers still deep inside himself.

Jolting into life, Arthur scrambled to cover himself, a bright, livid flush spreading across his face. It was impossible to try and wrestle his trousers over his legs so he snatched a pillow from the sofa and held it over his front.

Francis laughed and his expression was one of maddening, unapologetic smugness, as if finding Arthur like this had absolutely _made his day_.

“Well, well, I see you’ve certainly been enjoying yourself,” the beta taunted. “I was going to pester you about calling Alfred but I get the vague impression that you already have.”

“How dare you— _put that down_ —!” Arthur snarled, launching himself at Francis who had picked up Arthur’s phone and began reading through the text conversation on the screen. The two went crashing to the floor, Arthur pulling the beta’s hair on the way down and attempting to tug his phone out of the man’s hand.

“No need to so get upset, mon cher!” Francis cried, breathless with laughter and the exertion of dodging Arthur’s swinging fists.

“Hand it over, _now_ , you wanker!” He stabbed his elbow into Francis’ ribs, satisfied when the beta’s laughter was cut short by a grunt of pain.

Francis kicked his leg up, setting Arthur off balance, and it gave him time to pin Arthur to the floor and flatten the omega under his weight. Arthur thrashed but it only served to tire himself, he was at a complete disadvantage, and soon he had no choice but to slump, wheezing to catch his breath.

“Finished! What do you think?” Francis announced, holding the phone so it was out of Arthur’s reach but he could still read the screen.

_‘Unfortunately, I interrupted your horny little omega before he could finish pleasuring himself but you will be happy to hear he was moaning your name, Alfred. Expect an apology text tomorrow; the poor thing has had a lot to drink. And please send my regards to your delightful brother – Francis.’_

“I _despise_ you,” Arthur said through clenched teeth, voice dark with venom.

“Oh, you wound me so!” Francis leapt up; scramming for the door and Arthur couldn’t help but think, _that’s right, you’d better run_. “I think my work here is done, enjoy your hangover, rosbif,” the beta said with a small, sarcastic bow and then he was gone.

Arthur didn’t move, choosing to remain on the floor— _still with a sodding bare arse_ —and stew in the _sheer_ fury he felt for Francis, he was going to tear the man apart when he next got the chance, choke him with his own hair or beat him to death with a bag of floppy frogs’ legs, either way, he’d be creative and Francis would be a mangled corpse.

Sighing, Arthur forced himself to move to his bed, stomach roiling with wine. He was going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.

To make matters worse, further messages from Alfred were conspicuously absent after that point.

True to Francis’ words, Arthur did send a distressed apology text to Alfred the next day, hoping once more that Alfred would forgive him for all the ridiculous things Arthur had put him through—and the alpha wasn’t even in the same bleeding country anymore!

Burying his face into his hands and only just managing to stop himself from screaming into his pillow, Arthur tortured himself with vivid replays of last night.

He’d been so _desperate_ , so needy. Alfred no doubt thought Arthur was an easy, unashamed omega who rolled into bed with any alpha who so much as looked his way. Which was far from the truth, Arthur hadn’t any sort of sexual encounter with anyone since he was a teenager, pathetic as that was.

Arthur stayed in bed for most of the day, paralysed by humiliation.

_He’d really ruined it this time._

He was more than positive he wouldn’t hear from Alfred again.


	4. Chapter 4

When Alfred’s phone buzzed for the final time that night, he opened it expecting something delicious and sinfully erotic…

Instead his opposite hand paused in its heated stroking as he stared down at the text, reading it and then re-reading it, frowning a little, and then putting the device away altogether. It seemed Francis—who Matthew had explained at some point was the omega’s beta friend—had gotten ahold of Arthur’s phone. And that likely meant that any further texts sent to Arthur would be first read by _Francis_. And Alfred honestly wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but a deep, crimson flush was going down his ears all the way below his shirt collar.

Then it was met with agitation as he realized that the beta must have caught Arthur _in the act_ , which meant—… which meant that _he’d_ gotten to see the omega in that lewd state, squirming and fingering himself...

And _moaning_ …

Alfred regarded his erection with resignation, because regardless of what had happened he still needed to get rid of it and the lingering thoughts of Arthur definitely helped him accomplish that.

It really wasn’t the same though. The passion was ripped out of it, shredded and sprinkled with irritation at the beta. But the end result was semen-wet tissues in the waste basket either way.

The rest of the day was spent in something of a mood, but the following morning he was barely awake before he was already reading an hours ago sent message from the omega in question.

An apology. Arthur had been drunk. And then not-so-subtle remarks about how Francis was an asshole. Alfred could agree with that last sentiment, definitely.

So he sent back a message telling him it was all cool, but that Arthur definitely needed to change his locks. And then, because he didn’t want things to be weird, he added:

_‘last night was fun while it lasted, but i still think it’d be better if u were in person :)’_

Followed shortly by a request for alternate contact information.

And so their era of instant messaging began.

Being a tech-savvy guy, Alfred used a program that was both on his computer and on his phone and was free. (The out-of-country text message bill he’d gotten later had been alright for a few messages, but a _real_ conversation and he’d be going into debt at that rate…) And he’d instructed Arthur on how to use it too, because the omega seemed a little baffled by the concept. But after a few days of trial and error, they established a nice little routine.

In the morning he would wake up to a good morning message from the omega in question and at night Alfred would leave him a pre-emptive greeting before he went to bed for when Arthur awoke.

In between they would have a few short, somewhat shy conversations. At first.

And then it escalated.

Alfred taught the omega about webcams and Arthur obtained one and, well… their sex life picked up rapidly. And, _oh_ , did Alfred ever keep screenshots for later ‘use’.

But.

There was a reluctance to everything, almost a tentativeness, that kept them coming back to each other again and again. Sometimes Alfred got the impression that Arthur didn’t really take the whole thing seriously or, maybe: like he expected the affair to end at any moment. And Alfred had no idea if it was because he didn’t want to get too invested or he was afraid, but, being an alpha, he decided to do what alphas did.

Make the omega feel comforted.

It was four months in when he bought the ring. Not an _engagement_ ring, no, but instead...

Couples usually mated and bonded and _then_ married legally, but some outright rejected marriage now and so instead a new set of rings was being popularized.

This one, in particular, was a ‘promise’ ring. It didn’t mean anything other than a promise to be faithful to the other person, regardless of circumstance or position in life. Romantically, it could be assumed to be _a promise to mate_ , if the two decided to make it mean that. It was a pretty little thing—a silver white band for purity of intention and a light rose gem as a physical representation of affection...

The one he picked, in particular, had the engraving of leaves around the main set, like it was a rose. Alfred thought it seemed fitting.

Saying, “I have a surprise for you.” and holding it up to the webcam for the first time had been both nerve wracking and exciting. If Arthur didn’t want him, the rejection would come all too swiftly, but if he did…

If he wanted to be ‘a thing’ rather than just two people who sort of, kind of whiled away the time with each other…

So Alfred told him, “I’m gonna send this to you and you can do whatever you want with it, okay?”

And so he did.

Four and a half months in and he was already doing childishly silly stuff like giving a promise ring to an omega he liked like some kind of knight in a kid’s fairy tale book. Or perhaps, more aptly, like a twelve-year-old with his first crush.

There was just something about Arthur, though, and he honestly couldn’t help himself.

He always wanted _more_.

 

 

Francis hadn’t taken the news as well as Arthur had hoped, which, despite himself, planted tiny seedlings of doubt in the omega.  
  
It wasn’t as if he’d made the decision without sufficient forethought, he had agonised over it ever since Alfred had sent him the promise ring two months ago.  
  
_Alfred wanted to be his mate._  
  
_Arthur was moving to America to be with him._  
  
_It made sense… didn’t it?_  
  
Arthur smiled, reflexively twisting the ring on his finger.  
  
It had been six months since Alfred had returned to America and they had spoken to each other almost every day in that time. Arthur had been hesitant with Alfred at first, considering their bumpy beginning, it had been difficult to deduce whether the alpha was looking for a serious relationship or one of a more carnal nature. Arthur hadn’t exactly sent out a mate-material message, after all, what with lying to the alpha, snogging him flagrantly outside his apartment and _drunken sexting_ him, of all things.  
  
As dreadfully fond as he was of Alfred’s company, falling in love with an alpha that was only interested in an ‘exotic’ fling would have been detrimental to Arthur’s well being and so he had maintained his distance.  
  
It proved ineffective in the end; he couldn’t have stopped his heart from slipping in love with Alfred. Especially with the American constantly reassuring him that he was committed to Arthur, only Arthur, and then revealing that he’d bought a promise ring and it was making its journey over the ocean to Arthur.  
  
Arthur had _glowed_ with bliss when the package finally reached him and the ring adorned his finger. He hadn’t taken it off since.  
  
The meaning was unmistakable, wasn’t it? Alfred was asking Arthur to be his mate, that was what a promise ring signified and Arthur accepted the promise, proudly, irrevocably.  
  
The mind and body were innately connected and with the acknowledgement in his head that Arthur was promised to an alpha, the dynamic of his body changed. His yearning to be near Alfred became suffocating, his most recent heat was _shatteringly_ intense, his body questioning where this promised mate was who was more than capable of slaking his heat, and the comfort he found in nesting was shaken without the scent of his alpha.  
  
It was impossible to be without Alfred anymore and so the most logical step was to _move_ to Alfred.  
  
He’d thought, of all people, meddlesome Francis who had encouraged the relationship heartily from its unique beginning would be ecstatic to hear Arthur had secured a job in the same state as Alfred’s university, only twenty minutes from Alfred’s accommodation, and he was relocating within the next month.  
  
But the beta had stumbled, smile upturning and his neutral beta scent dimming with unease.  
  
“Are you sure he’s asking to be your mate? Has he _explicitly_ asked, Arthur?” Francis had probed.  
  
“Yes, of course, I’m not an idiot!” Arthur had argued.  
  
_No,_ was the honest answer, however. Alfred hadn’t mentioned anything about becoming mates. His exact words had been, _“I’m gonna send this to you and you can do whatever you want with it, okay?”_ but a ring was a ring. Alphas didn’t ship rings to omegas they’d confessed love to and had been courting for four months (albeit, over the internet) halfway across the world without the intention of becoming mates.  
  
It was enough to make him feel silly about asking so he didn’t.  
  
He’d yelled at Francis, telling him his concerns were unwarranted but the doubt curled inside Arthur, taking root, and as moving day drew closer the doubt had infested his brain, gnawing away at the emotion there.  
  
What if Alfred was courting someone else? What if he already had a mate? Arthur had no way of knowing. Frustration and bouts of loneliness came with having a long-distance relationship, Alfred might have tired of it and was merely sending the ring to Arthur so he wouldn’t become distressed or suspicious. The alpha was in university, an environment teeming with young omegas looking for mates; it would be easy enough for Alfred to find someone.  
  
For the sake of cushioning his heart if he were to discover Alfred was being deceitful, Arthur had withheld information from the alpha regarding his move to America.  
  
“I’ve booked a week’s holiday so I can visit you—if you’ll have me, that is,” Arthur had said into the webcam, his screen crowded by Alfred’s lovely face. His reaction was instantaneous and almost unquestionably sincere, he lit up, seemingly thrilled that Arthur was visiting.  
  
Once he was in America, he would only have to have Alfred assure him that they were soon-to-be-mates, and he’d surprise the alpha again about his move.  
  
He wouldn’t admit to it aloud but tears had pricked in his eyes when saying goodbye to Francis. The man was a bloody pain in the arse but Arthur would miss him, if only because he was losing someone to bitch about.  
  
As he watched another country dissolve under a blanket of rainclouds, Arthur felt his heart sink away, leaving him and remaining in France, as the plane ascended. He should be excited and part of him was but it was swallowed by the fear that Alfred wouldn’t be that pleased to see him.

 

 

_Arthur was visiting him._

Alfred was as giddy as a schoolboy the night before Christmas and twice as nervous. Was his apartment clean enough? His clothes? Was his style alright? On webcam he didn’t even need pants so it wasn’t like anyone could judge but this was real life!

There was _a lot_ to worry about.

So he cleaned his apartment not once but twice. Additionally, he scheduled a week free by doing all of his classwork in advance and bribing his professors handsomely—a promise of exotic chocolates for one and expensive wine for another, he was just lucky he’d already more or less befriended them with his incessant questions and curiosity during open hours…

He’d even gone so far as to stock a full fridge of all the foods one could want to eat and more, because he had no idea if Arthur would be happy with what Alfred normally ate and he just wanted to be sure. And, just in case the omega wanted his own space, he even cleared out and arranged the guest room for him, which had largely been used as a storage room up until that point.

Everything was in order.

Hopefully.

Being in New York—the state, not the city, although that was a pretty easy mistake to make—there were a lot of places he could take the omega to. He’d already made a list of some of them and, if Arthur wanted, they could go on a short trip into the city.

Alfred was prepared for _whatever_ his boyfriend wanted.

And, dang, did that title make pleasurable little shivers go up his spine. Boyfriend. _Dating._ He’d spent too long grinning in the shower over that.

Giving his place a final once over, he pocketed his keys, phone, and wallet, and headed out the door.

Time to meet a _certain someone_ at the airport.

 

 

Alfred was waiting for him amongst the taxi drivers holding cardboard signs; Arthur could see he was antsy, shifting from one foot to another, his eyes scanning back and forth until they landed on Arthur.

A gleaming smile spread over the alpha’s lips.

It was stupid, utterly stupid, but the omega welled up as Alfred came bounding towards him like an excitable dog and gathered Arthur into his arms, squeezing with enough force that Arthur was sure one of his ribs had cracked.

He scented Alfred, burrowing his face into the junction between the man’s neck and shoulder blade, and all at once, Arthur was _home_.

Overcome with the sensation of being physically near to Alfred, of reacquainting himself with his earthy, spicy scent, Arthur let out a watery gasp that sounded much like the onset of a sob.

He knew Alfred registered the noise because his grip softened, his arms unwinding so he could smooth his palms over Arthur’s flanks, a typical alpha-trying-to-calm-omega behaviour.

Before the man could say anything, Arthur murmured, “Hello to you too.”

Alfred exhaled a warm laugh at that, unable to help the build up of affection that made him want to put his hands everywhere and nowhere all at once. Arthur’s calming, fragrant scent was like a balm, soothing over any unease he’d ever had about this visit and reminding him how, exactly, he’d fallen for the omega in the first place.

Voice quiet and thick with an emotional tenderness that surprised even himself, Alfred rested his forehead gently against Arthur’s and said, “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Retrieving the omega’s baggage and leading him out to his car, it was undeniable the strength of the feelings coursing between them, built up over lonely months to a fever pitch that even had Alfred _almost_ teary-eyed from the sheer depth of it.

And beneath that, a fiery wave of something overwhelming that burned under his skin and made his lungs feel tight.

He didn’t doubt in the slightest what would happen once they got back to his apartment.

 

 

Arthur brushed his tongue over Alfred’s bottom lip, hot and demanding, sending the omega’s head into a honeyed frenzy. Arthur felt Alfred cup a palm over his hip, pulling their bodies together and rolling his hips over Arthur’s.

The drive to Alfred’s accommodation had flew by, the journey absorbed by the sexual tension between the two, and as much as they wanted to say to each other, the words were lost once Alfred had unlocked his door, their lips otherwise occupied.

Arthur sucked in a shaky breath of air as he was tipped back on to the bed, his head bouncing off the pillow. Alfred crowded over him, nudging Arthur’s legs apart and slipping in between them. The alpha’s scent was suffused with the tanginess of his arousal and Arthur’s blood surged with lust to think he was the cause for Alfred’s passion.

The kisses deepened and their movements turned frantic, uncoordinated, until their rutting was completely debauched. The hard press of teeth indented the softness of his neck and Arthur tensed, believing Alfred was going to leave a mating mark.

“Alfred,” he interrupted. “As much as I want this—and I do, believe me—I think it would be prudent to ask my parents first. The promise ring was very thoughtful, but they’d want to know before you took it any further. I hope you understand.”

If fire and heat could yield into blood and flesh, then Alfred was a volcano of red need, primal and passionate as the earth was solid, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t understand the concept of ‘stop’.

And, to be completely honest, the fact that Arthur had waited until _now_ —when he was thick and throbbing and practically in pain from arousal—almost seemed a little cruel, because he was fully prepared to fuck the omega raw in order to make up for those months upon months where they’d seen and spoken and moaned each others’ names over the internet, but not together, skin on skin, in the same room, with all the wet tightness that that entailed.

So with an amount of self-restraint and compliance that would make even a drill sergeant smile, Alfred pulled back.

“... Are you sure?” He asked, voice rough and low, albeit not purposefully.

How on earth could the omega have not informed him prior that _sex had to be approved of by his parents?_

Arthur propped himself on to his elbows, bewildered by Alfred’s question.

It was common practice to acquire an omega’s parents’ permission before making a mate of said omega. It was archaic, yes, and the prejudice of it had always ruffled Arthur’s feathers somewhat, but it was ingrained into society and his parents were staunch traditionalists—Arthur didn’t want to imagine the scorch of his father’s wrath should he show up with a mating mark scarred on his neck.

_Was it a… cultural difference?_

He hadn’t thought American courting traditions would differ too greatly to the ones he was raised with but perhaps he’d been wrong.

“Of course I’m sure. Perhaps the etiquette is different in America but making this sort of commitment without asking an omega’s parents first is highly frowned upon in England.”

Alfred sat back, pants a little too tight for his liking and mind awhirl. Yeah, that was true. Arthur was from England and England was well-known for being, well… _all about_ etiquette. He just hadn’t thought that that would extend to something like sex, especially after the omega and him had joked on and off about what ‘could have happened in the hall that day’...

His fingers twitched, wanting to touch his partner’s delicious, sweat-flecked skin, but he dug his nails into his palm and nodded, sobered a little by the pinch of pain.

He had to avoid temptation...

“Alright.” Alfred said, looking at Arthur with sincerity. “This is important and… it has to be done right, huh? I can wait; you’re worth it.”

Feeling a fluttering sense of elation, regardless, he mused the omega’s hair with affection.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and then I’m gonna treat you to dinner, okay? There’s another shower in the guest room if you need it, so make yourself at home and I’ll be back in ten.” He told him, giving Arthur a confident wink before departing for the master bathroom.

Shutting the door behind him, he palmed at his cock through his jeans and winced.

 

 

Frowning, Arthur watched as Alfred closed himself into the bathroom. His desire spiralled away, overpowered by his mounting confusion over what had transpired.

_So… while Alfred believed in becoming mates before asking Arthur’s parents, he didn’t believe in sex before becoming mates?_

That was just plain bizarre.

And Arthur had avidly been looking forward to the— _ahem_ —intimacy. It was almost unkind of Alfred to reduce Arthur to a twitching puddle of excitement only to leave him hanging.

Nevertheless, Alfred had accepted his terms, despite it appearing as though it wasn’t a part of his upbringing to approach an omega’s parents—Arthur would really have to look into that—so it was only courteous of Arthur to extend Alfred the same consideration and respect the man’s wishes.

No sex it was.

Besides, dinner sounded nice. Not roughly-fucked-into-Alfred’s-bed-nice, but nice. As long as he was spending time with the American, he was happier than the cat that got the cream even if he did hope Alfred would hurry along with contacting his parents.

Though, with the words _‘I can wait; you’re worth it’_ still ringing in his ears, Arthur felt a warm thud of love in his chest and thought he wouldn’t mind waiting a lifetime for Alfred.

 

 

Dinner went well.

Alfred hadn’t pre-arranged reservations—who would when he expected to be staying indoors with an omega who could hardly walk after the _fucking_ he was going to give them? However, not to be deterred, he called in a favor while Arthur was busy getting dressed and a reservation they had, even if it meant he owed his high school friend Gilbert a lofty debt for pulling the right strings for him.

Italian food was a classic win, after all.

And so they dined—wine and pasta and bread and whatnot—until the two were bubbly and giddy and obnoxiously flirting over, and under, the table, because _Arthur was here, in America, with him,_ and he felt stupidly in love. And it was only afterward, when he was helping the omega into a taxi because he didn’t want to drive home tipsy, that he realized maybe that extra glass of wine had been a mistake.

It was easy enough to cuddle up in the backseat and instinct took the opportunity to claw at him. His fingers would shift down to a slim thigh before he would catch himself and return it to Arthur’s waist. Over and over. Like some kind of sick game between his mind and his dick.

By the time they returned to his apartment, he felt like a mess. Barely concealed arousal and alcohol-reduced inhibitions were clamoring at him, ordering him this way and that.

So it was no wonder that when he kissed him, Arthur kissed back, and when he pulled away, the sexual tension between them was thick enough to choke a man— _God, like his cock between the omega’s lips—_

He couldn’t do this. This was going to drive him crazy and Arthur hadn’t even been here for one day. So he had to be honest.

“Look…” He managed, voice like molten gravel as he tried to will back the part of him that wanted to croon lewd things in the omega’s ear. It didn’t help that he had Arthur backed against the wall of the foyer, their shoes barely just off. “This is gonna be pretty hard on me, since I want you so bad… so I don’t think we can sleep in the same bed.” He admitted.

Backing off, he gave Arthur some space as he rubbed at his neck, sheepish.

“I don’t know what I’d do in my sleep, y’know? I might end up just…” He trailed off, but his glance at the omega was like a wolf half-starved for meat—it was a look of deep-seated hunger.

He had to force his eyes to drift elsewhere.

“The temptation is kinda high…”

Alfred was torn, that much was clear. What wasn’t clear was _why_. Why Alfred couldn’t just let himself go. The alpha had seemed blissfully keen when they’d kissed in that fateful hallway all those months ago and it wasn’t as if all of their video calls had been entirely innocent—quite the opposite, in fact.

And so Arthur encouraged every touch, kindled every kiss and heated look, because after the wonderful night they’d had, after being wined and dined—heavy on the wine—Arthur’s brain was soaked in the liberating warmth of alcohol, he was _horny_ , achingly so, and Alfred was too.

Dampness had been steadily growing between his legs since the taxi ride, where Alfred’s flighty hands had been back and forth over Arthur’s thighs, indecisive, but each touch stimulating, driving Arthur wild.

But, again, Alfred was retreating, leaving them both hard and frustratingly unfulfilled.

Well, Arthur wasn’t having any of that, not this time.

Confidence fuelled by wine, the omega stalked towards Alfred, seizing him by the collar of his shirt and delving in for another wanton kiss.

“Give into the temptation, Alfred, nothing is stopping you.” Raking his fingernails through Alfred’s hair, Arthur flattened himself against the alpha, wriggling his hips to entice the man. “ _Please._ ”

Arthur was _intoxicated_ —that’s what Alfred’s mind agonized over, painfully repeating this fact like a mantra. He wasn’t completely drunk but he wasn’t being rational. Yet that didn’t stop the hiss of breath that left the alpha’s mouth or the way his fingers dug into the omega’s lower back, oh so close to the curve of a soft bottom that desperately needed to be abused if the scent between them was any indication.

But he hesitated.

“You—…” Alfred ground out. “If we— I can’t hold back you know.” He explained, feeling his weakness to the omega permeating his being. “You wanted to ask your parents and—…”

Arthur laughed around a burst of breath.

_Asking for his parents for permission to have_ sex? Arthur had clearly underestimated the depth of Alfred’s inebriation.

The omega smiled into the next torturously slow kiss, tugging on Alfred’s lip.

“I don’t think my parents would appreciate it if you called them to ask for permission to _fuck_ me senseless, do you?”

Alfred blinked, bewildered, “But you said earlier—…” He began, because now his mind was wondering why the hell he _hadn’t_ had Arthur bent over his bed before if it was one hundred and one percent A-Okay to rut like wild bunnies.

Because, _oh god_ , did he ever want to rut like wild bunnies.

“I said earlier—?” Arthur pulled away from Alfred, his brows drawing together as he puzzled out the alpha’s remark. “I only said that because—… you were going to mark me, weren’t you? I meant you’d need permission before I could be your mate—not before we could have sex, you twit!”

There were a lot of things going on right now and Alfred was only just barely able to keep up.

“Mark?” He repeated blankly. Of course Arthur’s words and his mind supplied the rest: a mating mark. An alpha biting into the tender flesh of an omega’s neck and scarring the skin there, claiming their partner as their mate. The omega would smell like their alpha long after and others would know the omega was taken.

But why was _Arthur_ talking about something like that? Wasn’t it a little soon to be thinking they’d go ahead and...

The omega’s hand caught his eye, the ring glinting in the low-light of the hall like a tiny beacon.

Oh...

_Oh_.

It didn’t seem like a joke or, if it was one, it wasn’t a very funny one. To become mates they had to agree verbally, of course, and maybe, hell, _talk about it_ , but—

But what if Arthur had gotten the _wrong_ impression? Was England different? Did promise rings mean something more there? Oh fuck, he could _totally_ see that being the case. And now Arthur thought— he thought that—

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

It was day one of his visit! He couldn’t break that to him now, could he? Arthur had probably already gone months thinking that they were going to be—… and now he…

Alfred scrambled to pull himself together, because if there was anything damning about this whole thing it was his current silence. So he pushed a tornado of thoughts back behind the liquor and put on his most charming smile because now he was gonna bullshit harder than he’d ever bullshitted before in his life.

_God help him._

“Really? You shoulda said something! I wasn’t gonna mark you… just yet. I mean, I know I have t’ ask your parents and stuff. It’s just polite. I thought you meant the sex and, well, I was like, _‘How the hell am I going to tell his parents I want to bang their son?’_ y’know?” He laughed. It was all he could do with the absurdity of this situation. “I figured it was some kind of old-timey British thing! Legs crossed before bonding and that kind of thing!”

 

 

Alfred had paled, it was undeniable—the skin of his face drained of all colour, turning chalk-white and Arthur felt a jolt of panic strike through him. The silence stretched, suspended like a thundercloud between them, and Arthur could see the fraught workings of Alfred’s mind.

Francis had been right. The ring was _just a ring_. Just a pretty bauble of a thing that Alfred had meant nothing by, nothing serious, nothing lasting—there was no promise of being mates there, simply an item of jewellery.

Arthur’s stomach lurched with sickness.

_Oh god, he’d_ moved _here._

A sweat broke out over his skin and he felt ill enough to want to pace or lie down and never get up again.

Then Alfred spoke and the world was right again. Arthur exhaled, his chest deflating with heavy relief and he was helpless to the urge to laugh.

“You had me worried for a moment,” Arthur admitted. “There’s no rush, I don’t want you to feel pressured at all.”

He quickly recharged, lust flooding across his veins, more than ready to let Alfred have his wicked way with him now that there was nothing stopping them and he had confirmation that Alfred did really want to become mates.

Wrapping his arms around the alpha’s neck, he nipped at the lobe of Alfred’s ear and whispered with deliberate sensuality, “However, should you wish it; my legs will be decidedly _uncrossed_.”


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred’s mind rang with a thousand different kind of alarms. He’d just lied. Arthur thought something that wasn’t true _was true_ and he hadn’t corrected him—no, he’d made it _worse_ by pretending it was true. And, with that lie between them, the omega was offering himself up, baring himself whole like so many video calls before, and Alfred felt like a monster.

For months Arthur’s affection and intimacy was bound irrevocably to the fact that he assumed they were pledged to become mates.

How different would things be were that not the case?

The lie was too deep. There was no going back now. Alfred had had but one chance to undo it all and he hadn’t taken it. How the hell was he supposed to suddenly go: _‘Haha. Just kidding! I never actually promised to become your mate!’_

Which meant that… they simply had to become mates.

That was the only answer.

He didn’t dislike Arthur—quite the opposite, in fact—so it shouldn’t be hard, right? Just… become mates. Eventually. Not now, but later. Sometime. In a year? _Two?_ They probably would have mated anyway so it was fine, right?

Right.

Yes. They would have become mates anyway, so this just expedited everything. And then what if they ended up breaking up at some later date? What if all this didn’t work out and Arthur found someone else? Someone better? A promise to mate was just that—a promise.

They hadn’t actually _done_ anything irreversible yet.

Just words.

It was fine.

His alcohol-clouded mind hummed in pleasure over this. There was no guilt to be had in just going along with it, right? So long as he _intended_ to mate him, did Arthur really need to know that this whole arrangement hadn’t been intentional? Sure, it was a huge shock and one he was wholly unprepared for, but what did that matter? This saved him the trouble of having to propose it later even! If—… If he was going to.

No, everything was fine his inebriation assured him. _This_ was okay. And if his hands trembled a little as they found the soft curve of Arthur’s hips, it was nothing but nerves. And need. And want. Because he wanted Arthur.

Swallowing dry, he buried the thoughts that plagued him and pulled the omega into a kiss so feverishly heated that he thought he might burn alive.

He was going to a sin-filled hell, but he may as well enjoy every moment of it.

And it was with a thought like that that he yanked Arthur’s shirt off.

Finally, finally, they were getting naked. That was most definitely a step in the right direction.

And the way Alfred devoured Arthur’s revealed skin with his voracious gaze would have left the omega self-conscious if his brain wasn’t fogged by wine, instead he was empowered by it.

There was a pulse low in his belly, dizzying and carnal, and Arthur knew it wouldn’t be sated until Alfred was inside him. Almost savage, his fingers tripped over the buttons of Alfred’s shirt until he managed to open the garment and shove it off the alpha’s shoulders.

_Christ._

_Was it even possible to look like that? Arthur was sure it was reserved solely for photo manipulation and Hollywood stars._

It was a struggle to resist the urge to run his tongue over the man’s chest but he did abstain, if only to give the impression he wasn’t as desperate as a starved animal. Which he was.

Going for Alfred’s belt buckle, Arthur was impatient, ardently so, to see _more_. He knew nothing could be disappointment, not when the top half alone was a feast for the eyes.

Alfred was already hard— _of course_ he would be. Even the momentary hitch hadn’t been enough to make blood unpool from his nether regions, so his cock revealed strained at the fabric of his briefs and rightly so. Lies or not, his body recognized Arthur and his mind knew he was about to get as much of him as he could possibly want.

And to that end, his mouth already sort of was.

With the omega’s fears that he’d suddenly mark him alleviated, the alpha was free to nibble and nip and drag the sharp points of his teeth over Arthur’s sweat-tanged skin, because, _god_ , the omega was beading pheromones like rain drops and even if he’d been sober just sticking his nose in the crook of Arthur’s neck would have been enough to drown logical thought in raw instinct.

This was the kind of situation where accidental marks _did_ happen, that much he could understand. The urge to bite into the omega’s skin was a real one.

A possessive growl rumbled in his throat as tugged off his partner’s pants and they stumbled along, kissing and mouthing at each other. The bedroom seemed wholly unnecessary when there were all these good _floors_ , and _walls_ , and _cushions_ he could rut him against.

“Want you—,” Alfred breathed hot into the omega’s ear. “Always wanted you. Ever since— since that elevator…”

They fell together onto a couch in the livingroom and the alpha made short work of the omega’s remaining underwear, fingers sparing no hesitation in discovering the wet slick between his legs and, moreover, its origin. He slipped a finger in, unabashed.

“God, you’re soaked.” He muttered, voice rough and thick with satisfaction.

Arthur stuttered a breath as Alfred slid a second finger inside him, knuckle-deep and thicker than Arthur’s own, and he’d never felt so ready, _so eager to be filled_ , in his entire life. His body evidently agreed, judging by the amount of slick he was producing. Vaguely, the omega wondered what heats would be like with Alfred—delightfully exhausting, he could only imagine.

Keening, Arthur writhed, the alpha’s fingers twisting inside and stirring all sorts of responsive, hypersensitive nerve endings. Alfred was watching him, seemingly captivated, as the pleasure mounted in Arthur from the workings of Alfred’s hand.

Hissing in oxygen and toes curling, a particularly hard spike of pleasure speared through Arthur and the omega knew he was too receptive, too excited, to last long and he had to let Alfred know that before he lost his mind to the deliciously rich sensations the alpha was creating within him.

“Alfred—…,” he panted. “Stop, I can’t—I’m nearly… God… _please_.”

Arthur reached out to palm the impressive bulge at the front of Alfred’s trousers, hoping that would convey the message better than his sudden ineloquence.

It did that and more.

Alfred quickly shoved down his own pants, forced to remove his fingers from his companion in order to do so, but in turn that freed his aching cock, the head leaking precum and the girth of it hard enough to be painful. Like only once before, when Arthur had first contacted him via text message, the base was swollen just barely, the area thicker with the empty promise of a knot that wouldn’t come.

Positioning himself at the omega’s slicked, wanting hole, he pushed up Arthur’s thighs and slid straight to the quick with a groan, the feverish rush of their bodies tangled on the couch not giving way to trivialities like preparation and adjustment.

The noise that left the alpha’s throat nearly bordered on feral as his hands found purchase with Arthur’s legs, pressing into omega as close as he could manage. And, fuck, the pulsing throb of fire that was the Englishman’s body was _more_ than worth every month he had waited for it.

Mindless and lost to the euphoric nature of their sweat and skin, he pulled back and jerked inwards again hard enough to make the omega’s entire body rock with the motion, the faux-knot sliding in with a stretched and decisive pop.

Alfred’s thrust sent a bolt of hot, velvety _satisfaction_ skittering up Arthur’s spine. He cried out, breathless, as the next plunge of Alfred’s hips dislodged the air from his lungs. _Dear lord, this is exactly what the doctor ordered._

Shuddering, Arthur gripped Alfred’s biceps as the alpha rocked into his body, pushing Arthur up and down the sofa with the force of his thrusts. His head emptied utterly, encompassed by nothing other than Alfred and the exquisite chaos he was causing in Arthur. There was a tug, very slight, each time Alfred pulled out and Arthur realised with a throaty moan that it was a faintest hint of a knot. Oh, did Arthur want Alfred to knot him.

Soon there was nothing but escalating, glorious sensation and Arthur was immersed in it, reduced to squirming incoherency. He could feel his climax dancing at the fringes of his nerves. It caught him off guard, bursting, stunning and vivid, inside of him. Beyond any sort of sense, Arthur had no idea if he had vocalised or thrashed; he only knew that that had been the best orgasm he’d ever experienced.

If sex was nature’s drug then Alfred was overdosing, because the rawness of his feelings were torn open, fresh and bleeding like wounds of the soul, welling within him a mounting _need_ like nothing he’d ever felt before. And then it crashed down, a wave, and the tangled mess of their struggling bodies—yearning to be closer, melted, and never part—had his nerves firing off a thousand and one things he couldn’t comprehend.

The peak felt like toppling over the side of a waterfall, a moment of agonizing freefall before landing in a lake, and he was scrambling to press in, in, _in_ as far as his cock could manage, as though his very person might live or die depending on whether or not he could fill the omega with seed to his farthest reaches. And Arthur’s body encouraged this with throaty moans and a shuddering pulse of walls that milked him eagerly.

Alfred had been gasping—

Gasping into Arthur’s collarbone, hair clinging to his face and nose drunk off scent that surrounded him like wet air. Instinct rammed through him and he jerked, as though shot, clumsily dragging the omega up as they rode out mutual orgasm and the alpha snuffed at his neck.

Arthur felt himself coming down, sounds and smells that had been indistinct and faraway now flourishing over his senses with renewed clarity, it was almost if he was he had been floating inside the dreamy softness of a raincloud and now he was condensing into rain, becoming a puddle of boneless limbs and thudding veins.  
  
The final jerks of Alfred’s own orgasm jolted Arthur’s body, the alpha pressing himself as deep into Arthur as he could. He nosed into Arthur’s neck, his pelvis trembling against Arthur and his scent instilled with saturated warmth and comfort, and then there was a sting, a burn of pain as a patch of the omega’s skin tore—because of Alfred’s teeth.

The next thing to happen was a blur, but suddenly the copper hot taste of blood consumed Alfred’s senses and the animal inside of him, dizzied and delighted, sang.  
  
_A mating mark._  
  
Arthur was stunned at first; unable to comprehend if it had been a heated mistake on Alfred’s part or intentional. Either way, Arthur was going to have to deal with seriously displeased parents, though, through the pleasant post-orgasm lull; the worry dissolved and was replaced by a gentle, drowsy smile.  
  
_They were mates now._  
  
The pull of sleep became too strong for Arthur to ignore. He planted an affectionately indulgent kiss on Alfred’s forehead as the alpha lapped his tongue at the wound on Arthur’s neck before he closed his eyes, feeling safe and content and _loved_ as unconsciousness drifted over him.

Had this been a heat, Alfred would have been locked to Arthur for at least twenty minutes, his knot stuck firmly inside of the omega as he deposited a steady flow of semen into him with his body’s hope that he get pregnant. However, this was _not_ a heat and Arthur was _not_ locked with him and as Alfred pulled out a string of pearl fluid broke from his cockhead and joined omega lubricant in messing up the couch.

Alfred had had a few glasses of wine—he was inebriated sure, _but he wasn’t drunk._

His mind spun as he stared down at the still-bleeding wound at Arthur’s shoulder, which would heal only insomuch as he let it, alpha saliva ensuring a prominent scar. And in that moment, again, light seemed to glint pointedly off of the promise ring.

He was _mated_ now.

In the span of an evening he’d gone from having a significant other, to a mate-to-be, _to a mate_. Arthur would, by societal convention, need to live with him, share a bed with him, and share a life with him…

And soon enough there would be talk of children. Maybe not immediately, but age aside it was frowned upon not to at least try to conceive during one’s first mated heat, to ensure a strong bond. Drugs could interfere. And if Arthur _did_ end up pregnant then he… he…

Alfred would be a father. He’d have a family.

It was too much to take in all at once. He stumbled into a stand but spared a glance at the passed out omega and grabbed the throw blanket, tucking him in to keep him warm during his absence. The alpha’s body felt a very real _tug_ towards him—warmth and affection and a linking of feelings that hadn’t been there before and _oh god what had he done!?_

He was mated! Arthur’s parents didn’t know!

_His_ parents didn’t know!

Did he even want to be mated? In all honestly they hardly knew each other! Was six months long enough? Oh god, _oh god_ …

He did the only thing he could think to do at nearly eleven at night on a Thursday.

Alfred found his cell phone and shut himself away in his room, pacing as he found the number he was looking for and called it. Praying his brother picked up, he noticed himself in the mirror—naked and harried looking. There was blood on his chin. Fuck, he was a mess.

“Al,” Came a tired voice over the phone with a bit of a snap to it. “You _know_ I have work at five in the morning so you had better have a damn good reason for waking me up. And I swear to god if it’s only to say ‘I just had sex’ I’m going to—”

“I messed up.” Alfred said quickly. And there must have been something openly frantic about the tone of his voice because he heard Matthew inhale as though bracing himself.

“Okay.” His brother said. “What did you do?”

“You know how Arthur was coming here right?”

“Well yeah, you only wouldn’t stop talking about it...”

“Well I— He... “ Alfred hesitated. “I mated him.”

Silence.

For a full minute there was silence on the other end of the line and the alpha couldn’t even guess at what his omega twin was going to come back to that with, but finally Matthew said:

“Wow.”

Alfred exhaled. “I know.”

“Is he upset?” The omega asked, tone substantially more subdued now.

“Who— Oh. Arthur? No… I— Well, I don’t know. He’s asleep. It _just_ happened.” Alfred raked his teeth over his lip before adding, “He… I sent him a promise ring, you know?”

“Yeah, I think I remember that.”

Alfred sat down on the bed, sobering a little at having someone to confide in. “I think he… well, I wanted us to be… ‘us’ right? But he… said some stuff when he got here and—…”

“Alfred…”

“He came here thinking it was a bonding proposal ring, Matt.”

“Oh.” The omega breathed. “And what did you do?”

“Well, I—… I mean, I didn’t _know_ what to do so…”

“You lied to him.”

“Yeah.”

Matthew groaned, frustrated. “ _Alfred_ …”

“No, but see— I can’t. I can’t do that to him. I like him too much and— and you didn’t see his _face_. You don’t understand. He seemed so happy. I can’t just—...”

“And what about in a month, when the glamor wears off? Alfred, you realize many couples usually wait a full year after a proposal to bond right? And you’ve only been with him _one_ day, isn’t that right?”

“It’s fine!” Alfred shot back, because his mind needed to rationalize that nothing could go wrong now. It just… It couldn’t. Mating was forever. This _couldn’t_ be a mistake.

He wouldn’t _let_ it be.

Matthew’s voice trickled into his ear, quiet and thoughtful. “... Are you going to ever tell him?”

“No.” Alfred decided aloud. “He… He doesn’t need to know, does he? We can just—…”

The omega sighed. “Well, you were right…”

“Huh?”

“You really _did_ mess up.”

Alfred slumped, haggard.

“And I don’t think there’s anyone who can help you now. I’m sorry, Al.”

 

 

Arthur woke, shivering, his body searching for the hold of an alpha that should accompany a newly mated omega—the bond needed to be consolidated through contact and cuddling, after all, keep the endorphins from the _mating_ buzzing in his system.

However, the only thing beside Arthur was a blanket and the soreness of Alfred’s absence.

He brought his fingers to the tender mating mark on his neck to ensure it hadn’t been some sort of sex-induced dream but Arthur noted, with a flare of relishing, that it was really there, grooved with teeth depressions and clotted with sticky blood.

So where was Alfred?

As if answering his unspoken question, Alfred’s voice carried through a door. Arthur got the impression he was panicking, judging from the urgent haste of his words.

Arthur furrowed his brow, worried.

Silently, he shuffled off the sofa, grimacing as cool fluids slithered down his thighs, and he padded closer to the shut door to listen in on Alfred. It was rude of him, but Arthur thought he deserved to know why his mate was chattering away to someone on the phone, locked in his room, rather than snuggling the person he’d _just_ sworn a lifetime of happiness and security to.

It became apparent, devastatingly quickly, that this was not a conversation he supposed to overhear.

It had been a lie. All of it. The ring, the promise of becoming mates, the mating mark.

_It had been a fucking lie._

He was mated to a man that didn’t love him and was now crippled by the reality of what he’d done—terrified that he had to share his life with Arthur.

Arthur felt himself empty, hollow out, as if someone had torn him open at the seams and was taking great enjoyment in pulling out all of his stuffing, strewing it across the floor. He was hit by a disorientating bout of nausea and Arthur actually wretched with the force of it, thinking he would vomit then and there on Alfred’s floor.

He’d heard _enough_. Enough to reduce him into nothing more than tiny, mismatched fragments that didn’t fit together.

His throat constricted but Arthur vowed _he would not cry_ , not for that _arsehole_.

Vicious with his movements, he found his clothes and struggled back into them. He was trembling, not an exterior reaction, it felt as if the trembling was within his bones and it slowed down the process of getting dressed. Once fully clothed and he was shoving his foot into his other shoe, Alfred emerged from his room, naked and wearing an exhausted, _false_ smile.

“Don’t come near me,” Arthur barked immediately, low and dangerous. “I hope you’re happy, you _fucking coward_.” His voice crackled, breaking with a sob.

The omega was out the front door before Alfred could respond and then he was stomping in whatever direction his feet took him, creating a wider and wider gap between him and Alfred as quickly as possible. Here he was, trapped in an unfamiliar place with a broken heart and a mate that didn’t want him. It took every ounce of his strength not to cry.

Arthur wandered around the blackened city with its electrical spots of light for half an hour before he found a taxi and asked to be taken to the apartment he hadn’t even stepped into yet.

It was dark inside, vacant and echoing, the boxes filled with the contents of his life stacked in various places. He didn’t have a bed, he didn’t have a sofa, he didn’t have _anything_.

Slumping on the floor, Arthur retrieved his phone from his pocket and found the contact number without even seeing what he was doing. There was only one person in the world he could pour his heart out to, who he could weep uncontrollably to for the next few hours, who cared for him unconditionally and would listen to him without complaint.

Exhaling with relief when the person picked up, it took all of two seconds before Arthur was helpless to his tears and the only word he was capable of saying was:

“ _Mum_.”

 

 

Everything was falling apart.

Alfred felt disoriented, as though the world just wasn’t real anymore and he was trapped in an endless dream of sorts. The surreality of everything around him was encompassing, like a thick layer of ice. He was breathing without thought, moving without thought, but inside he was burning and delirious. This was… This…

If one thing could have been said about Arthur’s sudden departure, it was that he had never before in his life seen that expression so thorough and raw and open. It was—… It was a lot of things: disgust, anger…

Hurt and hatred.

He wasn’t even sure what had _happened_ exactly, but his mind could only come up with two things, both of which were equally horrifying. The first was that Arthur hadn’t wanted the mark this soon, was upset with him for doing it, and was livid to have his life bound to him without a proper trial period and the permission of the omega’s parents. The second was…

… the possibility that Arthur had heard his phone call.

Or, at least, part of it. _Enough_. And somehow, what with his own inability to volume control and the omega’s furious awakeness, that one seemed the more likely. It explained everything, really.

And Arthur was right.

Alfred knew— _he had known_ —going into this without telling him the truth was lying. He’d thought maybe some of the affection from the past couple months might have been based around the fact that Arthur thought they were ‘promised’ and… well, that was probably the truth. He had unwittingly strung up the omega’s affections, enjoyed every bit of them, unaware that it was the love of a mate-to-be he had and not the love of a simple relationship. And then, instead of talking things over with Arthur and smoothing out the misunderstanding, he… took advantage of it.

And then, in a fit of passion, he really did mark the omega.

_Why hurt Arthur if he didn’t have to, right?_ Some joke that was now…

Mistake after mistake after mistake. He wanted to spend his life with him, if he could—he had no objections to that! Arthur was the most wonderful person he had ever had the chance to encounter and even if it was Alfred’s fault, his sudden leaving was enough to make his eyes water and his senses slip into despair. He just hadn’t know he’d… promised _that_. And he was adjusting! It would have been fine! And now… now…

No, no. He was lying to himself. _He’d lied to Arthur_ —saw the lie through to marking him. And the omega had found out just as quickly that it was a farce.

He should have told him the truth.

He was a coward.

At first he tried dialing the omega’s number but it kept going straight through to voicemail, which he thought odd until he remembered that Arthur had mentioned something about purchasing a new, temporary phone once he was in the states. Which meant that he didn’t have the new number. Which meant that…

Alfred had no idea where Arthur was—if he was okay, if he had the money for a hotel, or if he was wandering and sleeping on the streets.

His heart wrenched at the possibility. The omega smelled of sex and wine and blood and, for god’s sake, he looked as vulnerable right now as he probably possibly could. He was a prime target for— for anything!

He felt disgusted with himself by the time he actually realized this and hastily dressed himself to follow after him. He should have stopped him at the beginning, when he was barely a foot out the door! But something about the fury in the omega’s voice had given him pause… as though he had no right.

And he didn’t.

However that wasn’t going to stop Alfred from locating him now.

If he was lucky, the omega would be in some local coffee shop or something—one of those little restaurants that stayed open until three in the morning. He just had to look for him.

Pocketing his phone, in case Arthur called him, and his keys, and enough cash that he could help him to a hotel if needed but it wouldn’t matter if he ended up mugged, the alpha stepped out the door at nearly midnight and began his search.

By dawn he had accomplished nothing more than sore feet and a full-body exhaustion that made him feel sluggish down to his very core.

He’d checked every open restaurant, the park, the local hospitals, combing each street and alley along the way as well as he could and even circling around some areas twice, hoping he’d just missed a sign of him. He asked everyone he met, anxious with the overwhelming knot of worry in his chest, but no one had seen anything like what he was looking for, which left him devastated because Arthur in his current state would be extremely hard to miss.

_‘Coward...’_ His mind taunted. _‘This all started because you’re a coward. Are you happy? Are you? Was it worth it?’_

He never found Arthur.

It was weird, but in the past he had always assumed he was the type of person who could never just ‘go without sleep’. Sometimes he heard about people brought so low they couldn’t and, moreover, they couldn’t eat either. And he’d always assumed with how lazy he was and how voracious his appetite, that that kind of thing was impossible for him.

Now his full fridge of food brought him spiraling into nausea and even if he tried to lay down it resulted in nothing more than staring at the ceiling for hours. It was only lucky—luck, _ha_ —that he had already taken care of his classes for the next week, because he didn’t even have the mind to consider them let alone contact a professor.

After going home in the morning, he left again shortly thereafter, but this search was smaller and shorter and, fatigued, he came back home around noon and… just sat.

He cried.

It was dumb and completely un-alpha and he hadn’t shed tears like that since the time he broke his arm when he was twelve, but he did. It was a burst, five minutes at most, but then it dried up quickly as he sobered and realized that he honestly didn’t _deserve_ to cry.

He was the monster—the coward.

What was _he_ crying for? This was his fault.

Alfred knew Matthew was at work. He knew his brother would give him a tongue-lashing for calling while he was there. But when he dialed the number and the omega answered, there was a definite silence on the other end of the line.

“Matt…” He managed, pushing back emotion in the form of a voice crack. “I—… I need your help.”

“I’m on my way.” His brother told him, without hesitation.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur wanted to go home.

Not to his apartment, not to France, _home_ —England, with his family—his irritating brothers, his overbearing father and his thoughtful mother. It seemed it was the only place on earth Arthur wouldn’t feel as if he were on the verge of being swallowed underneath a shadowy ocean, treading unforgivingly deep waters.

In a neglected corner of his mind, Arthur knew this wasn’t true. It didn’t matter where he fled, he’d be in the same state of disrepair, dislocated from reality, vacant and damaged all at once and nursing a cracked, misshapen heart. There was no running away from himself but he couldn’t help yearn for familiarity, to remove himself from this dreadful country where everything reminded him of _Alfred_.

He hadn’t left his apartment enough to be swept away by culture shock but the one visit he’d made to the closest supermarket had been overwhelming, jarring on his nerves, with every nosy American in the vicinity staring at him the way they’d stare at a lone puppy in a pet shop window.

_‘I wonder what’s wrong with that poor omega, his scent is so distressed.’_

It had been three days since… that day. The day he’d last seen Alfred.

Alfred, who he hated. Hated him for what he had done and hated him all the more because Arthur had yet to come crashing out of love with him. He supposed with them being _mates_ and all, he was even less dispositioned to shake off fond sentiments towards Alfred, they were synchronised to each other through the bonding, through the mark, it was embedded in their instincts to want to be in harmony with one another.

The unpacking process moved sluggishly, mostly because Arthur was reluctant to stay, reluctant to admit that this was where he _lived_ now.

He’d taken to nesting rather than using his bed—his body’s protective response to being rejected by his own mate. It was an occurrence that the omega body coped with very poorly.

In ancient society, omegas that had been shunned by their mates, as unlikely as it was, were cast out to survive alone which equated to death for an omega in that sort of environment. In that sense, it was almost as if Arthur’s body was anticipating a rather terrible fate.

Speaking to his mother had been calming, at the time, stemming his tears. But there wasn’t a great deal she could do other than call Alfred every derogatory name under the sun, some of them had been creative enough to bring a shimmer of a tired smile to Arthur’s lips, and it did make Arthur feel better though the relief was temporary.

At the very least, she had promised not to breathe a word to his father. While Arthur was sure he’d find some satisfaction in seeing the austere man catch a flight to America to personally see to it that Alfred was left nothing more than a bloodied mess, Arthur was far too emotionally exhausted to contend with the inevitable speech of _how ashamed he was in Arthur for letting this happen_.

Of course, it was unavoidable, he would find out eventually but for now Arthur needed to attempt to fix the pieces of himself back together—if that was even possible.

 

 

Allistair wasn’t an idiot.

He knew he had something of a bad reputation and, being the eldest brother, it was true that he was also the meanest, strongest, and coldest, when the situation called for it. But only because he _had_ to be—that’s just how packs worked. The oldest alpha was the second in command after the father and, were something to happen to theirs he would have to take charge of their little family. Other relatives could intervene and he was by no means be the pack’s head alpha, as that was their grandfather, but delegations would fall onto him for his unit all the same.

Being who he was, it gave him pause when his mother caught sight of him and quickly darted her eyes away, evasive, looking tired, upset, and on the verge of tears.

He had the truth out of her within five minutes, which was fortunate for Arthur’s sake because he wasn’t entirely convinced that she could keep the knowledge from their father on her own. With his support, however, she relaxed a little, and they managed that night’s family dinner with relative peace.

Allistair carried the burden of the secret now, after all.

Which meant flying out to the states under the guise of seeing how Arthur was doing and pretending, when his father regarded him suspiciously, that this had been planned all along.

“Don’t you want _someone_ to approve where he’s staying?” Allistair had reasoned.

That had been all the permission he needed, but he didn’t go straight to Arthur, no. How the fuck was he supposed to look his little brother in the face when some bampot was running around with his teeth blood-stained by Kirkland kin? No, he needed to find the alpha first and maybe bring his brother the bastard’s ear. At least then he could see the omega smile about his presence, although he’d probably just bitch; his brother always had been a strange omega.

So Allistair made his way through Arthur’s chain of friends, but he apparently needn’t go very far because the high-nosed frog from across the river spat out an address quicker than he could get to the threats, which made things easy enough.

Although this probably meant that someone was going to inform Arthur of his intentions, but really the omega should be delighted.

There was something about taking a plane flight in order to avenge his littlest brother that had him tense the whole way there, stewing in his own anger, fingers curling and uncurling as he thought about how it might feel to hit the man. And to that end, his reason must have been palpable, because many people avoided him if they could help it.

Before long he was standing in front of an apartment door, glaring at the number, and when someone answered he saw his prey standing before him.

And then he saw red.

The punch came fast and merciless, honed by over fifteen years of scrapping with his younger alpha brothers at every disagreement and channeled into this one moment of rage and vengeance. The alpha barely looked as though he were expecting it, too, because he reeled back and fell on his arse, floundering like some kind of child.

Pathetic. And _this_ was the man who had wronged Arthur? Even worse.

 

 

Alfred didn’t know what hit him—literally. He opened the door and saw green before there were stars and he was falling back. Pain bloomed from his cheek, raw and white-hot, and he tasted blood. He tried to get up but he was too late, as something—someone—tackled him back down.

“Alfred Jones, I take it?” Said a voice, accented and cold as steel. A knife pressed to his throat would have sounded more friendly.

“Y- yeah.” He managed, not entirely comprehending that that was the wrong thing to say.

The man had him flipped onto his stomach so fast it winded him and then his arm was being twisted up behind his back, pressed down with a sickening _crick_ that said things could get a lot worse very quickly if the stranger so wanted.

The American alpha struggled for air.

“You fucked up.” Allistair told him. “I’m thinking about taking your arm back to my brother. How does that sound? You ruin his life—I’ll ruin yours.”

Everything clicked in Alfred’s mind, like a beacon of light in darkness, and he choked out, “A- Arthur?” He could barely breathe and some alpha was on his back threatening to break his arm, but that didn’t even matter anymore. “Arthur how— _Is he okay?”_

Allistair frowned at the American’s back. “Not after what you did to him.” Slimy little fucker.

“B- but he’s okay, right? He— I…” Alfred squawked in pain when his arm was twisted further, but the alarm in his brain was directed elsewhere. “I’ve been looking for days and— he left his wallet here. I thought he was… _God_ … But he’s okay right? _He’s really safe?”_

This… wasn’t going according to plan. “Aye.” Allistair confirmed. “What kind of ‘danger’ do you think he’s in?”

“I don’t… On the streets just— just _anything_ could happen and after he just walked out I didn’t know where he went. I—,”

Allistair released him and dragged the other alpha into a stand. Righting him, his eyes grazed the bruise that was already beginning to form along his jaw and he wondered with some mirth if he’d broken it. Probably not, or Alfred wouldn’t be so keen on speaking right now…

Taking in the rest of the American… Allistair found no reason to believe him a liar.

He looked almost sick, probably lack of sleep, food, dehydration. It was alarming. Allistair tried to imagine seeing any of his own alpha brothers in this condition and the result was to call them a pussy and shove them to a fridge and then bed. Alphas who couldn’t stand up to some sad little emotions weren’t alphas that lived very long in the wild, so why should society coddle them?

A picture started to form. But it was missing pieces.

Arthur, a mating mark, walking out…

Christ, his little brother was stupid but he hesitated to believe he was _this_ stupid.

“You actually love my brother, don’t you?” He asked the alpha, watching those dulled blue eyes widen.

Alfred nodded, looking horribly sincere about it. “More than anything.”

Allistair closed the gap between them, reeled back, and punched him in the gut. Alfred went down like a sack of bricks. Kneeling, he yanked on the alpha’s shirt, tearing off a scrap of it before generously dabbing off some of the blood dripping down the coughing man’s lip.

“I’ll be back.” Allistair told him, before taking his leave.

It was time to pay his littlest brother a visit…

 

 

“What are you—Allistair, you shouldn’t just barge into people’s homes like that!” Arthur exclaimed, bristling as his eldest brother went about sniffing and inspecting his apartment as if he owned the bloody place. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, little brother!” The alpha squashed Arthur into a hug, crushing Arthur in a way that must have shifted some vital organs. “Didn’t your dodgy French friend tell you I was visiting?” He questioned, releasing Arthur and wandering into his bedroom.

Arthur huffed, exasperated, as he chased after his brother. He was far too weary to deal his brother’s maddening antics.

Honestly, the alpha thought of Arthur as a fragile soldier who couldn’t look after himself amongst his army of _big, strong alphas_. Allistair had a complex, that much had always been apparent, the man was restless with being less than the head alpha of the Kirkland family. And technically, _technically_ , Allistair wasn’t any sort of alpha to Arthur anymore; Arthur had pledged his allegiance to another alpha—a spineless, deceitful American.

“Allistair, get out of here!” Arthur commanded, pursing his lips as Allistair made a show of eyeing the nest of rumpled blankets and musty towels tucked up in a corner where a wardrobe had once been. “And yes, Francis informed me of your plans to _visit_ but I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

Arthur had been unimpressed when he’d received the phone call from Francis, the beta sounded far too exhilarated at the promise of _drama_ —Allistair storming over to America to _have stern words_ with the alpha that had wronged his little omega brother.

Sometimes, it was _almost_ endearing, Allistair’s protectiveness, but it was only for a slither of a moment Arthur thought this because Allistair bounced right back to behaving like his usual, arsy self.

“Off with you,” Arthur instructed, testy, as he gestured his hands towards the bedroom door. “Into the living room. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Allistair complied, tea was always compelling blackmail amongst Kirklands, and he slouched into one of the comfy chairs Arthur had instead of a sofa.

“You look like shite,” Allistair pointed out, never one to mince his words.

Arthur slammed a mug on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary and threw a noxious glare at the alpha lounging in the adjoining living room.

“How kind of you to say,” Arthur bit, busying himself with filling up the kettle with water.

“I mean it.” Allistair’s thick, family-trademark eyebrows drew together as he scrutinised Arthur. “Have you lost weight? That’s no good, Artie, you’re bony enough as it is—I’m surprised someone mated with you in the first place, I like my omegas with curves.”

Did Allistair _want_ Arthur to throw scalding hot water in his face?

“I’m sorry—have you travelled all this way to insult me?” Arthur growled, his fingers tightening, knuckles bone-white, around the handle of the kettle.

“Nah! You know why I’m here.”

“You might as well go home, Allistair. I don’t want you to _batter_ Alfred, or what have you. What good will it do.”

The impishness in Allistair’s expression hardened until it faded altogether.

“It felt _good_ , that’s what. Little tosser thinks he can piss about with my brother—well, I ain’t having any of that!” The alpha rummaged through his pocket and brought out a red-soaked piece of fabric and Arthur blanched at the sight of it. “I brought you a present! Thought you could hang it up on your wall or something.”

Teabags steeping, Arthur’s stomach flipped with a scurry of guilt.

“Allistair—! Good god, what did you do to him!?”

“What the bastard deserved, I put him in his place.” There was something in his brother’s eyes, a spark of something sinisterly unreadable and Arthur didn’t like it at all. “I thought you’d be happy, after what he did to you.”

“What he did was… unforgivable, but I didn’t want him to get hurt—”

“Aye, I can see why you got rid of him; the bloke was a bloody _pansy_. He didn’t even put up a fight, just kept prattling on about how worried he was about you, how sorry he was and how much he loves you.”

Arthur scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, defensive now.

“Alfred doesn’t _love_ me. He made that _crystal clear_ ,” Arthur said, voice sharp with bitterness and raw, open hurt.

“Did he?” Allistair queried, tone level and eyes as indecipherable as undisturbed wells of water.

“Yes!” Arthur snipped back, unwinding his arms over his chest and clenching his fists by his sides. “I know mum told you what happened—!”

“Yeah, but she didn’t mention anything about him saying _‘I don’t love you’_.” Allistair shrugged. “I mean, he sounded sincere but I _had_ just punched him pretty hard. It’s not worth thinking about now, is it? You don’t want anything more to do with him and I can’t blame you—he was a sad excuse of an alpha. Ugly too, I thought you had better taste—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s far from ugly,” Arthur retorted, unthinking, his blood boiling as though he himself had been insulted. “Quite the opposite. And he’s an exemplary example of an alpha, without being an arrogant arse like you.”

“... What’s this now? Are you sticking up for him?”

“Of course I’m not! I’m just—”

“You love him,” Allistair stated suddenly, no trace a question in his remark.

The heat of Arthur’s blood rose to his cheeks, fast and bright, and the back of his neck prickled with sweat.

“See, what I don’t understand is… he loves you and you love him and now you’re mates… but you’re not together…” Allistair shrugged again but this time his eyes danced with something Arthur was all too familiar with when it came to Allistair: _smugness_.

It worked, though. The meaning of his words wriggled into Arthur’s thoughts and multiplied, pushing up against the logical part of him.

_Of course he loved Alfred—that was why he was such a bloody mess—but Alfred hadn’t confessed love to him, though, well, not since… the hallway in France._

Arthur had assumed, as one would, that Alfred couldn’t possibly be in love with him, not with the way he’d reacted, with the web of lies he’d spun. It was outside the realm of possibilities—wasn’t it?

“Hate to interrupt the moment you’re having over there, little brother, but I was promised tea and I don’t see any.”


	7. Chapter 7

After ‘the incident’, Allistair spent a couple of days overstaying his welcome and observing his brother and by the end of it he had to admit… the omega really did have something for that alpha, even if the stubborn set of his temper refused to allow him to believe it. Sometimes he almost felt bad for Alfred— _almost_. You didn’t just waltz into the Kirkland family and expect it to be easy, after all. Still, Arthur could do with being a little, well, softer. He was _an omega_ , damn it…

And that was the main problem, really. Growing up with alpha brothers, the lad ran around like he was one. Alfred was a fool for getting mixed in with that, but at least he was a fool that made his brother happy.

So the answer was obvious: he just had to get them together. Their idiocy would do the rest and, if his impression of that alpha was at all correct, Arthur would go home with his mate and they would ‘express their feelings for each’ other in private.

Disgusting, but what could a brother do? It was the best outcome.

They were simple creatures by nature, so all it took was a text to a number that that Frenchman assured him belonged to the alpha (never trust a frog with your personal life, Art’) and the gears of his plan were set in motion. Which just left rounding up one sad little kitten, Arthur Kirkland, claws and all.

“Oi.” He greeted mid-morning the next day, ruffling his brother’s hair a little _too_ enthusiastically. “Come along, I want to see some trees and you’re going to take me. You’re as pale as rice paper—the sunshine’ll do you good.”

“You want to see some _trees?”_ Arthur said flatly. Suspicious didn’t even begin to explain the emotion that had risen in Arthur in light of Allistair’s inexplicable desire to see… trees. “Well, there’s a perfectly good view from the window over there—”

“No, ya soft sod, I mean a park. I saw one on the way over here, take me and buy me some ice cream or something. You’re an omega; you’re supposed to look after your alpha superiors.”

Crossing his arms, Arthur flattened his lips in an obvious display of disapproval.

“Is this how you repay your heroic brother after he flew _all the way_ to this backwards country to—”

“Oh, hush up! I’ll take you to see some bloody trees, you nutter.”

Gathering his jacket, Arthur thought to himself it was a miracle he had matured into the reasonable, intelligent adult he now was. With the rest of his family’s defective genetics, he was a phenomenon if ever there was one.

When they arrived at Allistair’s preferred park, and the pillock had actually managed to find an _ice cream van_ and was contentedly shoveling the cold treat into his face, the alpha quietened and his face clouded with an introspection that Arthur didn’t think the ice cream was responsible for. His eyes were ever-moving, skimming over the tranquil park as if he was…

“What are you looking for?”

“No one,” the alpha responded, too swiftly.

“No _one—_?!”

“Oh would you look at that—my ice cream is gone! I’d better get some more!” And with that, Allistair was dashing off. In the opposite direction of the ice cream van.

“Allistair!” It was too late; the alpha was a mere speck of lurid ginger in Arthur’s vision.

_What on earth…_

Arthur rolled his eyes, both jaded and dumbfounded by Allistair’s behaviour. After all the unfortunate years he’d had to spend in Allistair’s company, he would have thought he’d grown at least a little accustomed. Perhaps it was a merit to his sanity that he hadn’t.

Settling on leaving Allistair to go about his madness alone, it was always the best way, Arthur inhaled a mouthful of fresh, floral air and continued with his walk. That was, until he saw _him._

Arthur’s heart plummeted to his feet, leaving a streak of queasiness in its wake.

_Alfred._

 

 

_‘i dont no y but art wants to meet ur sorry arse in the park with the statue tomorrow @ noon so u better show up or im comin for u’_

Alfred didn’t need to ask to know who that was. Really, he could only stare at the message and vaguely wonder if it was an alpha trait to text like that, because he did it too. Then, shaking that thought off, his thundering heart caught his attention and held it there.

Arthur.

Something akin to hope snaked through Alfred and lodged its fangs in his chest, an aching throb that pulsed with longing. Arthur wasn’t just _Arthur_ anymore—he was _his mate._ Whether the omega wanted it to be true or not, it was. Whether Alfred wanted it to be true or not, it was. Maybe it was lady luck or maybe it was a bad hand, but they’d both been dealt it all the same.

He just hoped he could set things right.

God bless Matthew for coming over and practically throwing him into the shower and then dressing him. Alfred had barely been able to sleep the night before, which wasn’t all that strange because he hadn’t been sleeping all the much the last _week_ to begin with. His bond with the omega, however weak it was, tugged at him, clamoring that their separation was just wrong, wrong, _wrong._

Even if Arthur hated him.

“You’d almost be handsome if you didn’t have those bags under your eyes.” Matthew decided, looking him over before pushing him out of the house with a, “I won’t be here when you get back, by the way, just in case… well, you know.”

And then Alfred was on his way, no going back.

Seeing Arthur was a lot different than imagining seeing him. For one, he looked in good health if a little ragged, just like Alfred was. He was clean and fed and maybe not happy, _but he was safe._

The alpha had gone over what he was going to do when they met so many times and there were so many variations of it, but when the time actually _came_ —when vibrant green spotted him, widening at his approach—everything went out the window as though his brain had simply discarded the one hundred and one plans he’d conjured up in favor of pure instinct.

And so his pace picked up from a walk, to a faster walk, to a jog, and then he was throwing his arms around the omega with very little intent of ever letting him go.

 _“I’m sorry!”_ Alfred gasped into his hair. _“I’m so sorry!”_

No. Not tears. Arthur refused to be reduced to tears _yet again_.

Hopelessly, wet warmth slid over his cheek, his nose and throat prickling with a popping bubble of emotion as Alfred winded him with a hug. There was no justice in the fact that it soothed him so utterly, so beautifully, to be in Alfred’s arms, to be enfolded into that scent and that lush, alpha heat.

It felt so _right_  that Arthur wanted to give it all up in that moment let Alfred off the hook and run off into the sunset with him.

 _No._ That was exactly what Alfred wanted.  
Arthur untwisted himself from Alfred’s hold and took a step back from the alpha, cooling his hormones with the distance.

Though challenging, it was crucial Arthur kept a level-head—if it weren’t for the mottled purple bite mark on his neck, he wouldn’t be compelled to forgive Alfred with such ease.

“You should be,” Arthur murmured, words harsh on his tongue.

Alfred wasn’t even going to deny it; Arthur’s anger was completely justified. But the omega had wanted to see him so there must have been _something_ in him that wanted to work things out, right?

“I’m an idiot.” The alpha told him, because it was true. “I just— I… You were _so happy_ and I couldn’t—… I love you. I _just_ want to see you happy. And when you thought—…” Alfred sucked in a breath, steeling himself. “When you thought we were supposed to be promised to each other I was scared that maybe it was too fast but I thought… at the same time… God, _I just want that too._

So I lied to you. And I pretended what you thought was… real....”

He dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he continued.

“When you left I was scared something might happen to you—I didn’t know where you went. But you’re okay. I see that now. I—… I want us to be together. But I… got too worked up. Even if you want me to leave now I’m not sure I can. _I don’t want to.”_

Looking up at Arthur, Alfred said:

“I’m sorry… but I’m not giving up on us.”

Arthur bit into his lip to stop it from trembling. It was too sharply intense, looking into the blue of Alfred’s eyes, rousing every ounce of feeling inside Arthur, but he couldn’t divert his gaze.  
  
Not when the alpha had just said—… _said_ that he loved Arthur. That he wasn’t giving up on them.  
  
He quaked with energy, overwhelming, tumultuous energy and Arthur couldn’t decide if he’d just tasted heaven or if he was about to collapse into wracking sobs. Perhaps both, he was quite practiced in the art of sobbing by now.  
  
Could it truly be that simple… that Alfred loved him and he wasn’t going anywhere… _after everything that had happened?_  
  
Dire to prove that what was happening wasn’t real— _couldn’t_ be real—Arthur lashed out, frightened of the lightness forming inside of him, bubbling beneath his chest. He wouldn’t allow himself to be happy, not when it had been brutally snatched out of his hands and trampled on in front of him only a few days ago.  
  
“Don’t _lie!_ You’re only saying this because my brother knocked you on your arse,” Arthur snarled. “Don’t lie to me… _again_.”

“I’m _not_ lying!” Alfred shot back, earnest. “I don’t care about— about your brother or what he did or why. _I’d do it too, if someone hurt you!”_ The alpha deflated slightly following those words. “And—… And _I_ hurt you… and that’s unforgivable…” He admitted.

His throat went inexplicably tight.

“I know… this isn’t perfect.” He managed. “I’m still in college and you—… you live thousands of miles away and…” Alfred sucked in a breath, reaching forward to snag the omega’s hand before he could snap it away. “Please—… _Please._ Can’t we work this out?” He begged, running his thumb over the back of the Arthur’s hand.

His lip quirked a little, bittersweet. His eyes felt watery.

“If anything… your brother beating me up and the fact that your dad’s probably gonna do it too should have me running scared, right?” He joked, but then he sobered. “It’s fine though. I deserve it; I know that much.”

“How can I trust you…?” Arthur breathed, guarded.  
  
For all the world, Alfred seemed heartfelt and Arthur was almost engulfed by a longing to believe him. The man did have a point, he had come back after his brother’s ill treatment but it paled in comparison to what Arthur’s father would do to the alpha when he found out— _if_ he found out.  
  
And for better or for worse, they were mates.  
  
Arthur’s heart was sore, all because of Alfred. And he knew, unfortunately for him, that Alfred was the only person who could alleviate the painful aches.  
  
It was the happiest he’d been, when he was with Alfred, and, call him selfish, he needed that exquisite lightness of feeling again. Needed it, wanted it, more than anything.  
  
Wanted _Alfred_ more than anything…  
  
“I moved here,” Arthur said. “I have a job and an apartment and… well… I wanted to be with you.”

Alfred’s eyes widened, electric shock rippling through his blood. Arthur _lived here_ now. He’d _moved_ here. He’d thought that they were—… And Alfred had just—…

God, he felt like the world’s biggest asshole.

“I don’t know what I can do to prove myself to you.” Alfred admitted. “But if—… if there’s _anything_ that’ll convince you, anything at all…” he exhaled slowly, squeezing Arthur’s hand, pleading, “I’ll do it.”

Even if the omega wouldn’t look him in the eye, that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire those bright greens he’d grown so fond of.

“I’ll give anything to be with you.”

An idea collided into Arthur, whirring around in his head.  
  
Alfred had damaged the trust between them, well, not even that, he’d blown it into a million shards, and trust wasn’t something easily regained, especially with Arthur and especially after what Alfred had done.  
  
True, the alpha had withstood his brother’s beating but Arthur’s father was the real obstacle, the obstacle Alfred should have dealt with before sinking his teeth into Arthur’s neck.  
  
That was it.  
  
“Tell my father what happened, tell him you marked me without his permission—the permission I advised you about—and then I will _consider_ forgiving you.”  
  
Bringing his phone out of his pocket, Arthur scrolled through his contacts until he reached his father’s number. If mobile numbers could collect dust, his father’s would be caked in the stuff. With a challenging stare, he handed the phone to Alfred.

The alpha couldn’t lie to himself—he did feel a tremor of fear run through him. Breaking the news under good conditions was one thing, but under _these?_ The man would probably have a bounty on his head within the hour if Arthur and his brother were any indication.

But if he did this, regardless of the result, Arthur might possibly believe him.

So there was no hesitation when he pressed the call button, nor any when he thumbed speakerphone, the sound of dialing suddenly louder as it filled the relative silence between him and the omega. Having been in a relationship with Arthur for six months, he even knew roughly what time it was in England, so the man should have been at home.

He just hoped, for the sake of Arthur’s challenge, that the alpha answered…

 

 

Being a father of no less than five sons, even if a couple of them had flown the nest, spare time was difficult to come by for Mr. Kirkland.  
  
So when his phone rang during one of the defining moments of his novel, it was with no amount of enthusiasm that he answered.  
  
“Yes?” he said brusquely.

“Hello, sir.” Alfred replied, because he honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead and, while he could have been sweating bullets, he was launched forward into the conversation by sheer will and his magnificent ability to keep talking even when his brain stopped functioning. “My name is Alfred F. Jones. You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I love your son Arthur. I’m an alpha. I marked him as my mate. I never asked for your permission and that was wrong of me, but I’m not sorry. Sorry would mean that I regret it. And I don’t.”

Well, Alfred had just signed his own death certificate. His brain gave the silent cheer of a sarcastic hooray.

Eyes narrowing, Mr. Kirkland lowered his book and took a glance at his phone, not quite believing his ears.  
  
“Is this some sort of—… Has Allistair set you up to this?”

“No, I’m completely serious, sir.” Alfred told him. “I might have met Allistair, but he didn’t give me his name.” He added. “He just punched me.”

Mr. Kirkland rubbed his forehead and exhaled abruptly.  
  
Allistair and Arthur were fully grown adults that didn’t live at home anymore and they still managed to induce bleeding _migraines_.  
  
“Well, Mr. Jones, if this isn’t a joke then you evidently didn’t feel the need to ask for my permission before marking my son—why inform me of it now?”

Alfred’s eyes met Arthur’s and held there.

“Because I made a mistake; I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And Arthur said this was the only way he would believe that I was serious about him.” Alfred informed the man, voice firm with conviction. “And I am. I want him as my mate, sir.”

Mr. Kirkland was chuckling before he could stop himself. The sheer nerve of this boy…  
  
And Arthur never failed to disappoint, his only omega child was a feisty one—he wouldn’t take any funny business from an alpha.  
  
“You’re out of your bloody mind,” Mr. Kirkland mused. “But you sound like a decent enough lad, even if you _should_ have asked for my permission. I think you’ll do fine with Arthur.”  
  
Mr. Kirkland continued on, voice now tinted with threat.  
  
“However, do know that if you hurt my son in any way, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Good day to you, Mr. Jones. Pass my wishes on to Arthur and please inform him he’d better get cracking with those grandchildren I’m waiting for.”  
  
That—… That was it?

_That was it?_

Alfred was so surprised all he could do was stammer a flustered, “W- will do! Good day to you, sir!”

… And then the line went dead.

Handing the phone back to Arthur, all he could think to say was, “Um…”

 

 

That _traitor—that dirty little traitor of a father!_  
  
Jaw hanging open, no words found Arthur—he felt as though someone was going to jump from behind a tree and announce that it was all an elaborate joke and the man on the phone had been an imposter.  
  
Well…  
  
“Well,” was all he managed to say. He didn’t quite know what do with himself after that.

Alfred shuffled awkwardly on his feet, feeling distinctly like this wasn’t how Arthur wanted things to go.

Then he cleared his throat, “Lunch?”

Still dumbstruck, Arthur simply nodded.  
  
A promise was a promise after all. Alfred had called his father, had confessed everything, and had unfalteringly _told_ the man that he wanted to be Arthur’s mate.  
  
Arthur couldn’t argue with that—didn’t want to argue with that.  
  
“Lunch,” Arthur consented.  
  
And, with a spell of shyness, Arthur reached out to brush his fingers across Alfred’s, warming to the core when Alfred responded immediately, squeezing Arthur’s fingers with his whole hand.

A fluttery elation swelled in Alfred’s chest as he walked along beside his mate— _mate!_ —a happiness he hadn’t ever felt before making him feel light as air.

He grinned, exhilarated, and silently wondered if the day had always been this beautiful.

“So, about those _grandchildren_ your father mentioned…”

Smiling, small and unreserved, Arthur spared the alpha a coy look.

“Let’s get some practice in first, shall we?”

 

 

The End


End file.
